


Equilibrium

by RenderedReversed



Series: Equilibrium [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Fantasy MMORPG, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Bishop!Harry, Eventual TMR/HP slash, F/M, Gen, M/M, Necromancer!Tom, Online Relationship, Slow Build, Virtual Reality, still trying to cover all my bases, technically
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 03:34:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 75,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1883784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenderedReversed/pseuds/RenderedReversed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Voldemort was just supposed to be the bored necromancer who had a slightly creepy obsession with the undead. Scarred was just supposed to be a berserker--but things never quite work out that way.</p><p>For one, he isn't a berserker. He's a bishop. For two, he isn't <i>just</i> anything--he's the renegade High Priest of Gryffindor. For three, well... let's just say Voldemort's slightly creepy obsession wasn't on the undead anymore. </p><p>Glitches were <i>so</i> inconvenient.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Entry I: Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> My inspiration for this is the amazing _Legendary Moonlight Sculptor_ , a Korean light novel about the fictional Virtual Reality game Royal Road, and the player who sets out to conquer it all (for money)! If you don't know what it is and like the gaming genre, I highly recommend you read it! (and go write fanfiction on it so I can read it and love you)
> 
>  
> 
> **The translation for it is[here](http://www.rainbowturtletranslation.com/legendary-moonlight-sculptor-table-of-contents/), though there are multiple translators (the website documents them all together). **

The virtual reality game of _Witches and Wizards_ , the first to boast an amazing reality rate of 90%! Already it has a wide player base in Europe, North America, and Asia, and is currently making its way into Africa and Australia! In its world, called _Mortem_ , many kingdoms exist—North, South, East, West, each region calls a variety of kingdoms their own, as well as possess a copious amount of pride in housing one of four bases of the dominating religion…

The Church of Hogwarts, with its Mother Goddess Hecate.

In the North, the Gryffindor faction reigns supreme—boasting courage and strength in the face of the harsh, frigid tundras. In the East, the Ravenclaw faction looks down from their mighty mountain ranges, seeking knowledge and _only_ knowledge in their seclusion. In the South, Slytherin faction hides in the swampy mists of the lower kingdoms, welcoming only those who they deem worthy and powerful. And in the West, Hufflepuff faction kindly welcomes _all_ , with little military dominance but great loyalty all the same from their population in the mild environment.

One could say they are of the utmost importance in Mortem, for even the players, who were not born with the stringent loyalty and nationalism that the NPCs have, find themselves supporting their faction with surprising vigor. Though the religion is _one_ , the factions have developed so that each have their own doctrine, and engage in battle with one another to further separate their realms.

It is, genuinely, a sad tale in history. The Four Founders, Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Helga Hufflepuff, were the best of friends. The religion was to encompass _all_ , and their goal had been peace under the Holy Mother. Yet, it is _now_ , five hundred years later, that their religion is cause for war and conquest.

But perhaps that may change… for a particular couple of players have finally received the quest that could change it all!

In Lumos Kingdom, the light of the North (both figuratively and literally), lies the base for the Gryffindor faction—specifically in the capital of _Fortuna Major_. The church stands tall, the tallest and most ornamental building in the capital, with sharp points and straight edges to show their dominance. It is both the symbol of protection and the symbol of war. Many flock to it in hopes of receiving a blessing, or sitting for prayer, or serving as a paladin in-training…

But a certain player’s reason for coming is different.

His body is cloaked in black, hood thrown over his head and head bent low. His movement is seamless through the crowds—no one notices until he is at the steps to the church. There is something _dark_ in nature draping over his body, something evil and frightening. One hopes he would enter the church to cure himself of it…

“You there! Halt!” an NPC soldier cries from his post. The figure walks faster. “I said stop! Remove your hood! The Church of Gryffindor does not allow suspicious figures like yourself to enter!”

An NPC would register someone as suspicious if they have a depressingly high amount of _notoriety_ , or in reverse terms, an abysmally low amount of _fame_. Another reason would be having a _murderer’s mark_ above the head—the player’s name in red, as those who kill other players would not be able to hide their name—or to be afflicted with a particularly strong curse.

Scarred _knew_ this would happen. “I _told you_ this wouldn’t work,” he grumbled under his breath. The air about him stirred curiously, almost in laughter. “ _You prat_ , this is a _serious quest_ , you know. Merlin, why’d I even go along with it—“

“You there!” the NPC cried again. He had finally reached the suspicious player. “Remove your hood!”

Scarred paused, but it was only for a second. His hand moved up, reached the top of his hood agonizingly slow, and then lowered it.

The soldier stumbled back in shock. “Y—you… High Priest! Where have you been? It’s been months! Huh… your eyes—wait, that scar…”

Scarred sighed. It was true, he now fit his name. The lightning red thunder bolt scar upon his forehead was hard to miss, even through his bangs. It was so obviously a curse scar that it _hurt_ to walk through a town without his cloak covering it. _Everyone_ looked in his direction. And his eyes, one green one red, looked even more ominous than that.

“Look, I need—“the player began, but was cut off by a cry behind them.

“You! Foul heathen, how dare you step on the entrance to the most holy and noble Church! Halt there and face your divine punishment!”

“Wha—?! But sir, this is the High Priest—“

“If we get caught, I blame you,” Scarred muttered under his breath. The air stirred once more in reply. Then, lifting his head to face the guard again, he smiled apologetically. “Sorry. And I quit, by the way.”

And then he threw a sucker punch at the soldier’s face. Disoriented—because that was a _really strong punch, ouch!_ —he stumbled back and felt his knees give out from under him. The player raced past him and through the large double doors of the church. By the time the group of five other soldiers met the guard at the doors, Scarred was long gone.

“Damn it all! You, go alert the Arch Bishop! Gather the paladins! That bastard must be caught!”

The soldier that Scarred had been talking to managed to get back up on his feet. “Sir… why are you chasing the High Priest?”

The commander took a glance at him from head to toe. “Where’ve you been man? Living in a cave? Well, that _High Priest_ is no longer our High Priest. He’s a renegade. We’ve put a bounty on his head—one million galleons!”

“Wha—“

“Get back to your post! Make sure no more civilians enter the Church. We’re going to catch that heathen _today_!”

“Y-Yes! Yes sir!”

* * *

 

Gryffindor’s main church was, in fact, rather large. The main room was, of course, where players would come to pray and receive blessings, but there were also other rooms. There was one for confession, where priests would heal curses, one for an armory, one for a weaponry, and below the main ground there was lodging and special rooms for priests and paladins.

Scarred knew the layout like the back of his hand. He had lived here before, after all. And the particular room he was targeting was the room he used to reside in—the Office of the Arch Bishop and High Priest. While the Arch Bishop is in charge of most social affairs, the towns, kingdoms, situations of that nature, the High Priest is in charge of military. He’d trained the priests and paladins personally, as well as develop more spells and rituals on his own.

There was a saying—the Arch Bishop made the Church prosper, but the High Priest ensured the Church’s _existence_.

As far as Scarred knew, he was the only _player_ to ever have such a powerful position so far. And it was the only reason he was able to reach the Office; the Church’s protections would’ve kicked him out long ago because of his curse _and who he’d brought with him_ had it not been for the purity of his light magic.

Scarred also figured it was because of his intentions as well. The Church had a level of sentience not seen in other churches, and rumor had it that a piece of Hogwarts, the castle of the Founders, resided somewhere in it. He’d never found it, but the sentience of the Church’s building was undeniable for how long he’d lived here. That his intentions seemed terrible at first glance, but were actually… slightly better in nature… proved it.

There was no _way_ he’d be able to get past the protections with the goal of _stealing the Church’s primary ancient artifact_ otherwise.

“Ten minutes,” he muttered under his breath, dashing through the crowds of people and avoiding all the obstacles as well, “now I have seven. _Merlin I’m going to fail I’m going to fail I’mgoingtofail—_ “

Scarred got to the Office with five minutes left.

“Stop right there!” the Arch Bishop’s old, wizened voice commanded. “Old friend you were once, but I will _not_ allow this to continue, Scarred. In the memory of our friendship I will attempt to cure you of that foul curse upon your body, but—“

Scarred ignored him. With a powerful leap, he flew off the dais and into the hands of a ten meter statue of Godric Gryffindor gilded with pure gold. And, from those very cold stone hands, Scarred removed a sword from its resting place. The blade sung as the light from the window hit its edge, and the hilt was easy and light in his hands as if it recognized someone worthy of wielding it. Along the blade was a very simple inscription— _GRYFFINDOR_.

**Sword of Gryffindor**

**_The sword of Gryffindor, one of the Four Founders of the Church of Hogwarts! Crafted by the Master Craftsmen of the Goblin race for Godric Gryffindor’s hands, it is not only a masterpiece of art but also one of the deadliest weapons on the battlefield! Though it is practically five centuries old, because of the craftsmen who made it as well as the great care it’s been given as a Holy Artifact of the Gryffindor Faction, the sword is in perfect condition._ **

**Durability: 1900/1900**

**Requirements: Strength 300. Faith 100. Level 400. Advanced Level Sword/Weapon Mastery. If the wielder is accepted as a _true_ Gryffindor, there are no requirements. 20% of health is sacrificed if the wielder uses the sword unjustly.**

**Attack +500**

**Mana +1000**

**Charisma +100**

**Strength +50**

**Faith +25**

**Charm +25**

**Elemental Resistance +20%**

**Magical Affinity +30%**

**_Because this weapon is made by Goblins, there are additional abilities that can be used when wielding it. While the abilities are in use, there is a penalty of mana per second depending on the usage._ **

**Gryffindor’s Sword can absorb the special attributes of certain legendary monsters it has slain. Current attributes are:**

**Tears of the Phoenix**

**Poison of the Nine Headed Hydra**

**Flight of the Pegasus**

**Fire of the Nine Tailed Fox**

**Venom of the Basilisk**

There was dead silence.

“Today I’ll be taking it,” Scarred said, holding the sword in his hands reverently. He smiled and watched his reflection in the blade smile back at him. The adrenaline rushing through his veins drove him to continue.

“You—“

“ _Today_ ,” Scarred proclaimed, lifting the shining sword above his head with one arm, “I’ll be taking this back— _the Sword of Gryffindor_!”

As soon as those words left his lips, the priests sprung into actions. Barriers and shields and movement restrictions were flung in Scarred’s direction, but with a single wave of his hand, the restrictions were blown away. All that were left were the outer barriers stopping him from escaping.

“You’ll regret this, Scarred!” the Arch Bishop growled. “You’ll be an enemy of this Church! You’ll never be able to walk among man again with this!”

Scarred opened his mouth to speak, but it was not _his_ voice that spoke next. In the background, the priests’ voices were mumbling together to charge up for a powerful spell, and the paladins already surrounded all three sides of the statue as well as block the door.

“With all due respect Arch Bishop, there’s nothing you can do to stop us.” A cloaked figure materialized at Scarred’s side, and the player felt an arm move around behind him and a hand grip his shoulder. The room’s temperature dropped several degrees—while the Church was usually kept warm by enchantments, it seemed like they were overpowered by this figure’s presence.

“You… _You_! Leave this holy place! Your presence taints the walls and the entire _city_ with your appearance here! _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_! _Voldemort_!”

“Oh, I’ll be leaving alright,” Voldemort chuckled, “very soon in fact. But it will be with my partner, _and_ our prize.”

“Stop pissing him off,” Scarred hissed.

“We’re already infamous. There’s no possible way we can make it any worse—doubt there’s much difference between 5000 notoriety and 6000. Stop worrying so much.”

“Where… where did it go wrong… How did you manage to corrupt our High Priest, you filthy necromancer?!”

“Corrupt me?” Scarred muttered to himself. He discreetly elbowed his partner when he began to smirk.

“I’m offended, Arch Bishop. You doubt my charm?”

“Our High Priest has the purest light magic I’ve ever seen! What kind of curse have you cast—unless, _no_ , you used ancient magic from the Slytherin faction?!”

Voldemort opened his mouth to reply, but he was cut off by another jab to his ribs. “ _Don’t. Say. It,”_ Scarred hissed, “I will _not_ be responsible for a war _just because you don’t like Gryffindor_.”

“Well what do you expect from me?” Voldemort muttered back, “I’m a _Slytherin_.”

“Have a bit of tact!”

“I don’t see anything wrong with a wa—“

“Duck!”

Both players frantically dodged the incoming burst of light magic just in time. It missed but the hair on their head, and as they caught themselves from falling off the statue, they noticed the wide array of spells trained on them… as well as the paladins with their swords ready for when the two would inevitably fall.

“…Got a plan?” Scarred asked nervously.

Voldemort took a deep breath. He was already exhausted from maintaining his intangible form that had allowed them to get into the capital in the first place, and even worse, the holy magic of the Church put a high penalty on any magic usage he could use while being in the building. There was no possible way he could summon any large undead, or cast a dark area spell encompassing all of the paladins and priests. But he had enough for a distraction.

“Switch with me.”

That was all that needed to be said. Scarred nodded, trusting his partner, his dark, his other half. His physical body blurred until it faded completely, leaving only a faint sparkle in the air. Immediately it wrapped about Voldemort’s body, forming a protective shield against the spells that would certainly come.

“Spirits of the underworld, come to your master’s aid; ensnare all the foes before me, summon: _spectral wraiths_!” It was the best he could do. Voldemort watched as dark bodies began to reach up out of the NPCs’ shadows, grabbing at the physical bodies and restraining them. While they were not high or even middle class summons, the fact that he was a high class necromancer boosted their strength to cause a mess that had to be cleaned for the priests. Certainly the paladins would take them down in no time, but because of their sheer number, it would take a few minutes.

And _that_ would be when they would make their escape.

A burst of light magic flew at them from the crowd of priests, doubtlessly one of the spells that took awhile to cast by its spiraling shape and powerful surge. However, Voldemort made no move to dodge. Instead he watched as the spell collided with an invisible shield, and then, as if it could fight no more, dissipated into nothingness.

Scarred was not to be underestimated. While no longer holding the occupation of High Priest, he _still was_ a bishop in class, and his masteries were nothing to shirk at either. Voldemort felt a little proud—the player was a genius when it came to light magic.

But _now_ … was the time to make their escape.

“As my dear partner has said,” Voldemort smirked toward the Arch Bishop, “we’ll be taking the Sword of Gryffindor. And I _guarantee_ the other factions will not be exempt from our… shall we say, _atrocities_ either.”

The window behind them shattered by a piercing beam of light. Voldemort wasted no time in melting into the shadows, becoming nothing more than a blob of untouchable darkness before leaping to the top of the statue and then out the now open window.

Scarred was going to yell at him for this.

* * *

 

Voldemort took them as far as he could go before collapsing in exhaustion. Thankfully, the North wasn’t as industrialized as, say, the West—the fickle environment kept most towns tightly packed, wide expanses of open grounds between them and the next. While the capital was far larger than any other town in Lumos Kingdom, there still was open expanse outside the walls, where the paladins and priests could not find them.

He felt Harry materialize beside him, shifting closer to pull his head down to rest upon his shoulder. A hand came to rest upon his head.

“O you who tire, you who protect, let the Holy Mother bless you for your good faith; _divine blessing_!”

Voldemort relaxed, feeling Scarred’s magic wash over his body. The buff boosted his regeneration of stamina, but it would still be best to eat something.

Just _not_ Scarred’s cooking.

His partner had… some strange tastes. Most would find them downright _foul_ , and Voldemort was inclined to agree most of the time. His cooking skill was high, certainly, and the attributes to be gained by eating the food were surprisingly useful (and added to a great amount; the strange combinations usually yielded good results for at least Scarred’s manner of cooking), but there was usually a penalty placed on it for taste. So Voldemort preferred not to try at all.

“You should eat something,” Scarred said, shoving a chocolate bar in front of his nose.

Voldemort grimaced. “No thank you— _you_ should eat it. You stayed in your alternate form for at least nine minutes—“

“Eat it. You don’t have to worry, I didn’t make it. And I have some herbs I’m munching on right now.”

…His partner knew him well. With a sigh, Voldemort moved his head and simply bit off a chunk, letting the dark chocolate taste melt in his mouth. There were some things _Witches and Wizards_ brought to the table that were surprisingly unexpected with their 90% reality. _Taste_ was one of them—he’d probably tried more types of food playing than he had dining at a fancy restaurant. Voldemort closed his eyes and let the bittersweet taste and beauty of silent companionship do away with his fatigue.

The forest they were in gave resistance to the icy winds. Scarred’s blessing gave them a bit more resistance to the cold. While they would soon have to move, soon wasn’t _now_. They could relax for a bit, something Voldemort noticed most players didn’t appreciate enough. Time flowed differently inside the game, and few realized that _Witches and Wizards_ could be just as hectic as reality when there were urgent things to do.

There were those who played the game for enjoyment. For relaxation. For a trip out of real life and into the beauty of virtual reality.

But there were also players who thought differently.

If you put your time into something, your effort, your hard work and compassion, there is no reason to call that life “virtual reality”. Because you _are_ living a life there, wherever that ‘there’ is. You have goals, you meet people, you laugh and groan and you enjoy it, even the challenges and the difficulties. Some things you enjoy more than others, but that’s life.

“Virtual reality” is a reality as well, especially because of developing technology. With a large percentage of the population entering it, despite age, race, and occupation, its existence is undeniable. Some might see it as a new market, others as a vacation whenever you wanted it.

But that too is ‘life’.

And Voldemort—Tom Riddle—wanted to enjoy it with the person he couldn’t imagine he could live without.

And that was why Scarred—Harry Potter—fought. Giving up was never an option—this life was where he’d met his partner, after all. It was a life he wanted to protect.

“Hey,” Scarred murmured, “good job today.”

“Mmm. You as well—perhaps we _do_ have a chance of making it out alive…”

**Secrets of the Founders Quest**

**_Something is amiss in the Church of Hogwarts—corruption and further miscommunications have been slowly escalating the situation, but recently there has been a spike in conflict! It is believed that the origins of the problem stretch to the Founders of the Church. To right the wrongdoings of the current factions, as well as save the continent from continuing on the path towards an all-encompassing war, establish contact with the Founders through the items they left behind and receive information and permission to investigate! This is a request from Albus Dumbledore, Emperor of Mortem._ **

**Difficulty: ???**

**Requirements: Advanced Necromancy Skill Advanced Level “Contact the Dead”. Advanced Level Light Arts. Advanced Level Dark Arts. Allegiance to at least one of the factions of the Church of Hogwarts.**

**Sword of Gryffindor 1/1**

**Locket of Slytherin** 0 **/1**

 **Diadem of Ravenclaw** 0 **/1**

 **Cup of Hufflepuff** 0 **/1**

***Failure to complete this quest will result in the permanent deletion of your character, as to be caused by the wrath of Holy Goddess Hecate**

***Pre-requisite of Secret of the Deathly Hallows Quest**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as you've probably noticed, the summary sounds really weird compared to the actual, y'know, chapter. BUT. I'd like to bring to your attention the fact that this is slow build, and we'll get to the summary in maybe five chapters idk how many I'll choose to write before Harry and Tom actually meet.
> 
> Because this thing I just gave you?
> 
> It's.
> 
> A.
> 
>  _Teaser_.
> 
> Don't you hate it when authors do that?!!!!!! AGHHHH I'VE NOW BECOME ONE OF THEM SORRY.
> 
> Also, I know this kinda sounds funny, and I'll probably get some dislike for it, but I'm genuinely writing this for the sole sake of fixing my writer's block, which means the writing will probably be a bit funky as I'm not putting much focus into it--my focus is in the plot; first time I've written like this tbh. 
> 
> So it's gonna be all over the place. Apologies! If anyone wants to volunteer to get the stuff ahead of time (though it'd probably be once in a blue moon, so lol?) and fix it up, be my guest.


	2. Entry II: Scarred, Gryffindor's newest member

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Helpful vocab:**
> 
>  
> 
> class/job/profession: affects the character, such as wearable equipment or available skills  
> \--->example: warrior, thief, archer, mage, cleric, berserker, necromancer, scout, assassin, paladin...
> 
> occupation: affects the social status of the character; also gives a salary/wage  
> \--->example: shopkeeper, merchant, palace guard, lord, duke, gardener, farmer...
> 
> ***Players can have both a class and an occupation. 
> 
> PK: player killer, where one player unjustly murders another (without challenging to a duel)  
> \--->PKers are forced to have their names appear above their head in red as punishment. They also receive a bounty.

It is, perhaps, his most blessed secret that he cannot see.

No, not _see_ , but _feel_. Harry Potter is not a sociopath—or at least, as far as he knows—nor is he a monster. He is neither a creature of some disputable or unknown reputation nor a criminal seeking escape from the governing law. It is not within his _nature_ to disregard all others and place himself upon a pedestal—he is a man. That, no one can take away from him.

But the type of human that he is, he doesn't quite know.

 _Seeing_ —that is, _feeling_ in this case—cannot be considered under one name a virtue nor a flaw. That is something he understands, and thus, perhaps, why for that reason he believes his inability in doing so a blessed secret. For Harry felt deep within his being on dreamless nights and too early mornings that he could no longer understand what it was and is to _care_. He did not believe himself incapable of caring, but simply put, unable to _feel_ if he cared or not.

The questionably apathetic nature of such behavior was quite frankly terrifying, especially because, as he views the world from his too old eyes, his mind questions under what circumstances and what beliefs others around him found themselves in to... well, _care_. Because he could not see them.

He could notice them, but not see or _feel_. And Harry found, much to a further developing apathy and a suspicious lack in misery—dear God, he prayed he would not lose his morals next, if he truly were to suffer through increasing loss of human qualities!—it was _he_ who could not see it. _He_ who could no longer comprehend it _yes,_ he _alone_. And nothing felt quite so hopeless as that—for though his fear of continuous loss of comprehension could be considered _caring_ , there still lied a certain apathy in it that he could not deny.

Harry questioned.

_Did it really matter? Will it ever? Where is there to go from here?_

While these thoughts seemed to spiral, they did not hold a desperate note in them as would have been implied by mere words. The strangely distant quality he'd taken to mostly everything stretched to envelop these questions too, and it was a wonder that he could even work up the nerve to do something out of the ordinary anymore.

Was this depression? Surely not! He... He was normal. While his childhood had not been, filled with suspense and phantom pains and half memories of punches and physical exertion, Harry had figured he'd turned out alright. Perhaps even _excellent,_ if on the other side of the spectrum hid a psychopathic megalomaniac of a murderer... Some antagonist in a horror story, doubtlessly.

So Harry spoke less and less. Speaking, figuring out the right words to say to preserve everyone else's sensibilities simply proved too much trouble. Why wasted the energy when he could say _nothing at all_ , and hardly anyone would bat an eyelash to it? Yes... yes it was better _this way_.

This way, the few friends he had would _stay few_ , though the apathy came back with a curse, whispering how he didn't particularly hold any of them significantly dear to the heart. _That_ was disturbing as well—because it wasn't like he didn't _care_ , it was just he didn't know if he cared _enough_ , and woe be it to the one who chose to call him out on it (if anyone minded to, Harry doubted that) because a hopelessly lost Harry was as good as a wounded animal.

Only, without the drive to bother attacking.

It was on a particular day like this that Harry found himself waking up to an arduous process that should in all rights be made _illegal_ , but that ran into all sorts of other legal problems and philosophical—technical?—problems that everyone could do without. The sun's light, slipping in through the blinds of the window, moved in their glistening nature across his bed sheets, much like a reflection of water across a mirror.

It was the additional movement of the tree's leaves outside that did it, certainly that—because no one bothered to visit him anymore aside from an impersonal phone call every now and then. But that too was hardly as pitiful as it sounds—it was fact. Simple as that.

Harry stretched, legs parting and shoulders and wrists creaking. He laid there, eyes closed and breathing smooth, for awhile yet. The sun felt uncomfortable in a familiarly soothing way is it danced along his bare skin, unveiled by the thin sheets that had pulled away from his chest. He would like to lie here a moment more, two moments perhaps, if that was an option.

Daytime sleep was always the best—the night brought the unsavories and night mares after all. He'd rather not have another galloping into his dream state to trample over all his senses for the next hours of torture, thank you very much. Those horses could stick to their stables! They were the only creatures Harry figured he could not fight off with a good kick, which they _did_ deserve, if Harry had any say in it.

Eventually, with minimal grumbling he rose. Dim, with slits of light was what he preferred, and his mornings were always just that.

He'd pick a fight in the local dojo after his warm up run.

* * *

"A place where you could fight anytime you want! Wouldn't that be the dream for ya, Harry? Where everything could be solved with a little scuffle, and that'd be it! You'd rule that world, I'm sure of it!"

Harry smiled at the enthusiastic student he'd just sparred with. "It would be chaos there," he denied lightly. "Chaos is only nice once in awhile."

"Ha! But you'd enjoy it, wouldn't you?"

"It doesn't matter much to me if it doesn't exist. There isn't any point to the what ifs if you aren't going to do something about them."

"Well, I suppose," the man grumbled. "But you're a good person Harry. If a world like that was ruled by you, it'd be a beautifully controlled chaos, I guarantee you that. You'd not let a man's crime go unpunished, but all the same not let a man's virtues go unpraised."

Harry smiled, a little tighter this time. "You flatter me," he disagreed, "I don't believe I could be such a grand person, especially not a leader. A good heart isn't all that makes a man."

At about this time during a lull in their conversation, another male student taking his quick rest walked up to them. "Apologies brothers, but I couldn't help but hear your conversation. And I must say, a world like that does exist if you want it to be! In a virtual reality game."

"Oh? You're talking about that game all you youngsters are playing now?"

"Not just me," denied the younger practitioner, "but my parents as well. Most of my family play it— _Witches and Wizards_! You don't have to play for the sake of leveling! My aunt plays because she wants to travel the continent just like on a vacation."

" _Witches... and Wizards_?" Harry's echoed.

"That's right! You should play it, Potter! While it's made for people who know little about fighting to still get by the reality isn't a joke! You've got an edge if you're already used to controlling your body that way."

"...I suppose it won't hurt to look."

* * *

 

So he'd bought it, and carried the box home. It was fairly simple to hook up, and soon enough he was left waiting for it to finish charging. Harry fetched himself a snack as he read through the manual.

A world of 90% reality! Harry admitted it was rather interesting in theory. He'd never played any of the predecessor VR games, so this would be his first try. You could interact with the world with touch, taste, sight, smell, and listening—any pain experienced was muted, though it would feel uncomfortable. Everything else was realistic. The environment mirrored that which existed in the real world. If you were on top of a mountain it would be hard to breathe. If there was snow you would have a chance of catching frostbite, or coming down with an illness.

The environment could kill you. Monsters were not the only things that dealt damage.

Eating food caused all kinds of side effects depending on what you were eating. It could burn, it could remain uncooked halfway through. You could even get food poisoning! There were consequences to every misstep, just as there were in real life! This was what appealed to Harry. Ever since he could remember he was constantly considering the consequences of every single action he made. Often it meant they difference between a meal or a night of hunger. Putting his mind back into considering every move incited his challenging nature.

As he read further, it was clear that humans could effect the environment of the game too. They could build houses, cutting down trees for lumber, or create irrigation systems in order to bring water to landlocked areas. They could plant herbs or trees, attracting a variety of monsters to a new area. They could make tunnels, or ditches, or moats. They could fence off or wall off monsters to create a town if there were enough attractive forces to gather a small NPC population.

Gaining levels did not make the whole game.

In fact, the system _dissuaded_ from focusing on purely levels. Harry recognized this instantly, despite it never being explicitly stated. Skill levels differed from character levels, and could only be raised by practicing the skill. While leveling up your character gave ability points, they were a fixed amount. To gain anything additional required action out of the ordinary. The hard work could've turned some people away, convincing them to remain in their beginning town to enjoy it forever, but it made Harry curious.

He wanted to see how far he could go. How far he could reach.

There was something beautiful there to grasp and behold, he was sure of it. You cannot expect to gain anything without moving yourself! Gifts do not fall into the hands of the idle! To work toward something you are unsure of, even without a specific goal in mind, will take you somewhere! And if you pave that path, there will doubtlessly. Something to find at the end of it, or even along they way!

Harry had long lost the motivation to progress. The life of a simple minded civilian who worked for simple goals did not suit him. He progressed without ever _truly_ progressing. But with the discovery of _Witches and Wizards_ , the promise of a new frontier where he could spread his wings out to their fullest, outside of the cage, to see his own wing tips—yes! This was what buried the shovel into the dried up dirt surrounding his soul, and prepared to dig all the way down deep in search of water!

Water. The liquid of life! The image of a cascading waterfall! This is what Harry desired to flow in his veins once more.

So he took the visor in his hands, plugged it into the console, and closed his eyes. The cushion of his couch faded away into the background as he entered the realm of Mortem, ready to step back onto a path no matter where it would take him. One could even say this sense of raw motivation, that which a dying man in search of the last droplets of life would muster, cast an ominous cloud over this monumental event in Harry's life.

Because someone who would do anything for something is one of the most dangerous creatures of all! And this is the type of beast that prepared for entry into Mortem, with none the wiser!

 **Welcome, new player, to** **_Witches and Wizards_ ** **. What would you like your name to be?**

"Scarred."

**"Scarred," are you sure?**

"Yes. Confirmed!"

**"What race would you like your character to be?"**

_Someone worthy of rampaging the plains, come rain, hail, or storm. Such a person... There is only one race properly fitting of it! Only one race properly stubborn enough, who will get up time and time again. The cockroach of creatures!_ "Human!"

**"Human," are you sure? In case you did not read the manual, we have 20 races of different creatures currently available for new users.**

"Yes, confirmed."

**Would you like to customize your character? You can keep your appearance as you are in real life if you so wish.**

"Keep my appearance."

**Understood. Keep in mind you may not change your skin color, eye color, facial structure, or height in game. Dying your hair and styling it is allowed, and will be saved the next time you log on. Where would you like to start your adventure?**

Here, Harry paused. Gryffindor is the house of the brave and courageous, values a warrior would take to. However, Slytherin values _power_ , which was an obvious choice for those seeking strength whatever the cost. Ravenclaw is the house of the intelligent, and in another way, especially for this game, knowledge is power... But Hufflepuff is geographically the best choice to get a good start as a true beginner, since so many people where centered there it would surely give the most help.

**I see you are conflicted. Do you know about the factions?**

"Yes. I read the manual."

**In that case, considering that you have trouble deciding on your region of choice, would you like to allow the Sorting Hat to sort you? Depending what faction it sorts you in, you will go to the corresponding region. You will also be automatically registered under that faction.**

"...Alright then. Please have the Sorting Hat sort me."

Instantly, Harry felt himself materialize in an empty stone room. It was a curious feeling, suddenly being in control of your arms and legs—suddenly _seeing_ them, for in front of him suddenly appeared a huge ornate body mirror. In it, he saw his reflection. Something compelled him to come closer.

**"Why HELLO there! You're the indecisive adventurer now, are you? Well let's take a peek and see what's in that head of yours!"**

"Ex... Excuse me?" Harry muttered, furrowing his eyebrows. His reflection did the same. But then, Harry swore it _smiled_ at him, and so he blinked and rubbed his eyes in confusion because _reflections reflect, and he certainly hadn't smiled_...

When he concentrated on the mirror again, he was wearing a large, wide brimmed pointed hat. Harry jolted, taking a step back and raising his hands cautiously to check whether it was true. His reflection copied him. As his fingers touched the worn leather, Harry registered the weight of something on his head, and found the brim of the hat touching the upper edge of his vision.

 **"I'm the Sorting Hat! And** **_you_ ** **, Mr. Potter, must come to realize that in this world--no, in** **_both_ ** **worlds, the only truth there is, is the truth of perception! What you think is real is only so real as you** **_let it be_ ** **."**

"How do you know my name?" Harry asked breathlessly, confused and still in a bit of shock.

 **"Why, it's all in your head!** **See? Got to learn to look, Mr. Potter!"**

He opened his mouth to argue back that he didn't see _anything_ , especially not his _name_ , but another glance at the mirror proved him to be very wrong. For in front of him, written on the glass in the mist of his breath, was _Harry Potter_.

 **"This is the Mirror of Erised! See the inscription? 'I show you not the truth, but your desire'! With this, I can see it all—everything in that head of yours. You see, I call you Mr. Potter because that is whom you** **_want to be._ ** **You have yet to want to be** **_Scarred_ ** **, so that is not what I'll call you."**

"What if I didn't want to be Harry Potter?" asked Harry. "Wouldn't that mean you wouldn't know who I am?"

 **"Half of being you is being what you want. You are never one hundred percent** **_not_ ** **what you want. Your behavior, your manners, your beliefs... That is all what you subconsciously want. If you figured you were, oh,** **_I don't know,_ ** **John Locke, then Mr. Locke you'd be. I wouldn't be wrong,** **_you_ ** **would just have two names.”**

"I... think I understand..."

 **"Yes, well, don't think too hard on it or you won't understand anymore,"** the Sorting Hat wryly remarked. **"As fascinating as you may prove to be at conversations, let's get on with it, shall we? Destiny doesn't like to wait longer than she has to, and I'm sure she'll blame it on me if you keep her waiting too long."**

"How are you going to sort me? Will you simply see where I want to go?"

 **"If it was that simple, I'd have never appeared to you. No, you earnestly don't know where to go, and thusly it is** **_my job_ ** **to sort you. Whatever faction I choose for you will be your** **_true_ ** **house. You will be a** **_true_ ** **member of it. Never forget that! For no one can be true members unless I deem it so."**

"Alright. I'm open to suggestions."

**"Hm... Yes, well, let's have a look see!"**

Harry watched in amazement as images of all kinds flashed before him in the mirror. He was always the central piece, no matter if there were other people in them or not. He saw himself flying on a broom, running incredibly fast through the forest, cradling some indistinguishable object in his hands, and many more scenes. The last he saw was himself with his parents, smiling together with them.

 **"You... are infuriatingly difficult to sort, Mr. Potter, I'll give you that. Oh don't look so worried! I rather like it. Appreciate the challenge—this job is so** **_dull_ ** **sometimes, don't you know? Ah, now, hmm... Where to put you..."**

There was a pause.

 **"You'd do well in Slytherin, I'll give you that,"** the Sorting Hat finally said, **"that faction would bring you to greatness! But... What's this? Ah yes, you sure are a tricky one Mr. Potter. While Slytherin seems the best suited, that is but the outmost layer of your mind... I can see it, you know, all those things that you used to be and** ** _still could be..._** **"**

"So... My faction is...?"

In the mirror, Harry could've sworn he saw the Sorting Hat _smirk_.

**"BETTER BE GRYFFINDOR!"**

Harry vanished in a flash of light.

* * *

 

To help players adapt to the world they found themselves in, as well as establish some commendations in their home kingdom, there was an adjustment period of four weeks. New players could not leave the premise of the town for a month—they were recommended during this time to explore and seek out quests to get a bit of beginning currency.

The town's vicinity expanded to half the way to the woods. This gave newbie players access to rabbits to hunt, but they were not very good experience. The leather dropped by the wolves and rabbits could, however, be requested by NPCs. Occasionally there would be a monster hunts quest, but that would be towards the end or completely out of the four weeks.

Harry knew he would need all the time he could get to become fully adjusted, and the information he needed to gather during this time would be priceless as well.

Unlike most players, his goal for a class was not a warrior, or a mage, or an archer, or even a thief. Harry had his sights on a secret class—the berserker class! A class dedicated to battle! The longer the battle wages on, stronger still does the berserker get! A class that will do whatever's necessary in a fight, using whatever available as a weapon! In some respects, this makes them similar to martial artists, however, the ruthlessness of berserkers differentiate the two.

Martial artists respected and honored the art of all weaponry—including the human body—but berserkers possessed no such sentimentalities in their battle. They fought to fight, to sate their bloodlust... For the rush of it.

Harry didn't find himself particularly bloodthirsty, nor did he find a drive in himself to go out of his way and harm others. No, he desired the path of the berserker because he saw in them the quality of _resilience._ Harry saw the stubborn nature that had them _excel_ in situations others would be eaten alive in. And he saw a bit of himself there too.

But he had no idea how to _become_ one. All he knew was that it _existed_. There were multiple ways to obtain a secret class, and no one knew exactly how many there were. So he was moving without a clear path, but Harry was determined. All he knew was what he wanted. As long as he strived toward it, he'd get _something_.

So that was that.

The North! A frozen realm of hidden potential, if only one could brave the environment to find it! This was where Harry found himself. Though, the towns _were_ relatively warmer than outside the castle walls—due to enchantments, of course—but the air was still biting with the wrong apparel. The system was kind enough to grant new players starting here a warmer set of newbie clothes than the other regions.

So with his warm fur pelt tunic and pants, Harry set off to do a variety of odd jobs in the first three weeks of his game play with but ten small loaves of bread and a dagger in his pouch. There were quests to tend the fire, to deliver and pick up items, to dust merchandise or clean dishes. Some were curiouser—digging in the snow for a particular item, gathering herbs or other usables from the ground.

Harry’s stats at the beginning were as follows:

**Name: Scarred ~ Level: 1**

**Faction: Gryffindor ~ Class: None**

**Title: None ~ Fame: 0**

**Health: 100 ~ Mana: 100**

**Strength: 10 ~ Stamina: 10**

**Intellect: 10 ~ Wisdom: 10**

**Luck: 10 ~ Agility: 10**

**Attack: 0 ~ Defense: 0**

**Fullness: 100 ~ Fatigue: 0**

Through this manner, Harry learned the basics to survive the North! Though he did not end up in Lumos Kingdom—his origin was the small town of Little Hippogriff, Protego Kingdom. As the name implied, they specialized in breeding hippogriffs, a majestic creature that was half horse half griffin. They were not used as common sources of transportation, but breeding them was worth the trouble. Nobles often bought hippogriffs to participate in sky races, or simply as a show of wealth. Certain high ranks in the military used them in battle.

The hippogriffs also helped the village hunters hunt. Riding them like steeds on both land and sky, hunters were able to catch prey at a much higher rate. One could say the hippogriffs were essential to the village’s existence.

So far, none of the villagers had asked assistance in tending to the beasts. They were rather prideful, and a quest was not given easily. Handling the hippogriffs also had a great deal of mystique around it, though it was generally understood that the beasts hated the arrogant and were quick to make judgment.

But, during his fourth week, Harry finally made contact with Hagrid, the old stable master. It was an opportunity!

“Bloody assistants… Don’ need ‘em anyway! Those others can just take ‘em! I don’ need the extra hands o’ course… Ain’ raisin’ anythin’ here anyway, according to ‘em… bloody bastards…”

“Excuse me,” Harry interrupted the giant’s mumbling, “do you happen to need some help?”

“Wha’?” Hagrid turned around, giving Harry a good once-over. “From yeh? Ain’ need any help over here, an’ tha’s the end o’ it! Jus’ fine with meself. Don’ need ‘em traitors anyway.”

“I’m not sure who you mean,” Harry blinked.

“Those other stablemasters!” exploded Hagrid. “They be stealin’ me only two hands! Ain’ nobody but meself takin’ care o’ those beau’iful beasts now… Said I wasn’ rasin’ anythin’ here, they said! Took ‘em with their sickles and galleons… Ain’ no respect fer ol’ Hagrid! To hell with ‘em, tha’ lot!”

“But how can they say that? There’s a hippogriff right over there...”

“Yeh understand then! Me hippogriffs the bes’ outta this small town! But money speaks money, yeh hear, and all me stable hands left! Dunno wha’ I can do now… On’y one giant, and these beasts need care… Tha’ girl over there loves her attention, yeh see, and tha’ one over there loves bein’ fed by the hand…”

Harry listened as Hagrid prattled on and on about his hippogriffs. It was a view from the other side, so to speak. A villager to a new player! He cared for his hippogriffs like they were his own children, and they returned that ‘love’ with all the affection animals could show. During this time, it was hard to remember the old stable master was an NPC, that there wasn’t really a _human_ behind those eyes and words and tears.

Harry didn’t know how to sympathize, but his heart stirred and he wanted to _do something to help_.

“If you could teach me, I’ll help you the best that I can. Maybe if they see a person working here, some more villagers will come for work.”

Hagrid smiled at him, full of innocent joy and relief. “Tha’s a great idea! I don’ think I can thank yeh enough! Oh, wha’ was yer name again? Don’ think I ever asked.”

“It’s Scarred,” Harry replied. “Just Scarred.”

“Well then Scarred! I’d teach yeh the basics, bu’ can’ go ‘bout doin’ that ‘til yeh have the beasts’ approval! Hippogriffs are prideful things, bes’ show ‘em respect to get some in return. I’ll introduce yeh ter Buckbeak! Sweetest o’ the lot!”

Harry nodded and followed after, but upon seeing who ‘Buckbeak’ was, he wasn’t quite sure Hagrid was telling the truth… Out of all the hippogriffs, he looked the meanest, singled out from the lot and given his distance by the others of the herd. He looked back up towards Hagrid, but the giant was completely oblivious of Harry’s hesitance. He was still smiling and chuckling, lumbering over to Buckbeak with a cheery greeting.

“This here is Buckbeak! Beau’iful, ain’ he? Now, ter properly greet a hippogriff, first…”

**Greeting of the Hippogriff Quest**

**_It is incredibly rare for new players to receive quests regarding the hippogriffs of Little Hippogriff, not because none of the villagers require assistance, but because hippogriffs themselves are rather picky on who they accept! Should you earn the respect of a hippogriff, they are fiercely loyal and protective. Just as well, if you fail the first greeting, take it as a sign to flee and never come back! Hippogriffs are half-horse half-griffin, a mix that leaves them incredibly dangerous if offended._ **

**Difficulty: E**

***failure to complete this quest will automatically deny you the privilege of working with Hagrid’s hippogriffs**

An E level quest! So far, Harry had been receiving F level quests, which were the lowest grade a player could get. Their rewards usually ranged from a few knuts to a sickle, perhaps a lousy or broken equipment, but no more than ten sickles were ever given. The rewards of course increased in value the higher the difficulty of quests, though there was also an increase no matter the difficulty rank if it resulted in a chain quest.

The highest rank known was S, the mythical S level quest! No one had ever obtained one so far, and whether there was a SS or SSS was unknown. Higher ranking quests were difficult to receive in the first place, never mind complete, because it usually required a ridiculous amount of high fame or a very high intimacy with an important NPC or village in general.

“Yeh understand?”

Harry immediately accepted the quest. He nodded, replying, “I’ll be glad to meet Buckbeak.”

Hagrid stepped aside, waving him forward. Harry approached cautiously. He didn’t know what level Buckbeak was, but it was very likely—considering he was only level three!—that it could kill him in one strike. The talons looked especially sharp, and that the beak was probably just as was something Harry would rather not find out about.

When he was a respectful though closer distance away from the hippogriff, Harry bowed at the waist, never breaking eye contact with the great beast. He waited, tense, as Buckbeak eyed him, ruffling its feathers and kicking at the ground.

Would this be it…?

It approached with its head held high, a threatening gleam in its eyes and Harry was incredibly tempted to spin around and run. However, he managed to keep himself completely still, and then something amazing happened.

Buckbeak bowed back to him.

“Amazin’! Ha, I knew they’d like yeh!” Hagrid exclaimed, “Go on now! Yeh can pet him now! Buckbeak likes a good pat!”

Harry slowly rose from his bow and reached his hand forward. The hippogriff, seemingly impatient, leaned its head closer and rubbed against his outstretched hand. The feathers were soft to touch, and as Harry relaxed, he found himself smiling. Buckbeak… wasn’t all too scary when he was seeking for affection.

**Greeting of the Hippogriff Quest completed.**

**By receiving the respect of the strongest hippogriff in Hagrid’s herd, other hippogriffs will also treat you affectionately as long as you never forget your own respect.**

**You are now eligible to work as Hagrid’s stable hand.**

“Alrigh’ then Scarred, before work comes learnin’ ‘bout these creatures! I think the bes’ way is takin’ ‘em fer a ride yerself!”

Harry blinked. “…What?”

“No need ter be cautious! Buckbeak won’ drop yeh! Well, as long as yeh don’ pull at his feathers…”

**Fly with Buckbeak Quest**

**_Before you can become a stable hand, Hagrid says you must learn about the hippogriffs first! What better way to do this than some firsthand experience? Buckbeak is willing to take you for a flight! To ride on a hippogriff as a new player is unheard of. Take the opportunity to fly with Buckbeak! You might need this experience later._ **

**Difficulty: E**

He didn’t even have a chance to agree or not. Before he knew it, Hagrid was lifting him onto Buckbeak’s back—something that made Harry realize how awfully small he was compared to the half-giant—and then right after he gained his balance, Buckbeak was dashing off into flight.

Something Harry had never experienced before! The wonders and majesty of being airborne! After getting over his initial fear, Harry took the chance to open his eyes and look around. The wind stung at his eyes, but once he got used to it, the feeling that beat in his heart was indescribable. To think, that these were the types of thing you could experience in virtual reality!

Harry had no idea. A genuine smile touched his lips. The scenery passed all around him, the clouds, the snow, the forest. The air was freezing, but he still felt warm inside.

**Because of your appreciation for nature, wisdom has increased by 1.**

**Despite the chill of flight, you feel better than you ever have before! Stamina has increased by 1.**

**You have learned a new skill:**

**Hippogriff Riding Beginner Level 1 (0%): You are now able to ride a hippogriff in flight without falling off. Because this skill is at beginner level, you still experience discomfort and tire. Also, the hippogriff you are riding will obey you only depending on your intimacy with it.**

**The more the skill level increases, the more likely your hippogriff will obey you and the less discomfort you will feel.**

Upon landing, Harry received a quest.

**Help Hagrid Quest**

**_All of Hagrid’s stable hands have left him, due to being courted away by the other stable masters. Help him out instead, as well as convince others to work for Hagrid through your own display of hard work._ **

**You will gain temporary occupation of “Hippogriff Stable Hand” for a week.**

**Difficulty: E**

* * *

 

Harry worked for Hagrid for the whole leftover duration of his four weeks. Honestly, the week he spent with Hagrid he genuinely enjoyed. The half-giant was very friendly with a gruff exterior, and talking to him was very relaxing. Hagrid wasn’t the smartest villager in the town, but his heart was as pure as a child’s. He could see why animals took to Hagrid like fish to water.

By the end of his stay, Harry had not only raised his intimacy with Hagrid to the max, but also befriended multiple hippogriffs, though the one he was closest to was still Buckbeak. He had also attracted three villagers to become Hagrid’s replacement stable hands, and watching them, Harry knew these couldn’t be bought off with a pretty galleon. They truly cared for the beasts that gave their town its name.

There was, of course, the matter of the other stable masters, but Hagrid assured him there was no need for some petty revenge.

…Harry still might’ve snuck away with Buckbeak a few times to sabotage their stables. Nothing to affect the hippogriffs, of course—simply a cause for some mild discomfort while working.

Because he still worked very hard for Hagrid, the small amount of notoriety he had gained doing such a deed quickly vanished. His fame grew to a modest amount instead. By doing physical labor, Harry also saw a small increase in his stats, such as strength and stamina! It was a wonderful development, and definitely worth the week.

Hagrid was sad to see him go, but knew that he was a foreigner who needed to explore. “Come back an’ visit, yeh hear? An’ if yeh need any help, yeh can be sure we’ll come runnin’!”

“Yes. Thanks Hagrid,” Harry dipped his head in a small bow. It was his small show of respect that he had become accustomed to while working with the hippogriffs.

“Before yeh leave the town, there migh’ be someone yeh wanna see… He usually don’ talk ter people, but yeh befriended Buckbeak, so he’ll welcome yeh no problem! Should I send yeh off?”

“I’ll go see him. Uh… where is he?”

“He’s over at the edge o’ town! Jus’ go west. Buckbeak knows, he’ll take yeh. Shouldn’ be a problem! Jus’ say ol’ Hagrid sent yeh, though betcha he’ll know with Buckbeak…”

**Friend of Hagrid Quest**

**_Hagrid feels that there is a friend who you might want to meet in the village, who also has close relations with Buckbeak. Meet with the mysterious friend and see what he wants. Buckbeak will take you there._ **

**Difficulty: F**

“I’ll be sure to say hello for you,” Harry replied.

* * *

 

He was sure there was _some_ type of mistake. Buckbeak had lead him to… a tree. An oddly shaped, knobby tree which had a suspicious lack of snow covering it, but it was definitely a tree. Harry was _sure_ of that.

“Are you sure this is where he is?” he couldn’t help but ask the hippogriff for the third time. Buckbeak made an impatient grunt at the back of his throat and nudged him forward.

“Uh… you want me to…?”

Buckbeak grunted again. Then, he stamped his clawed foot down on the snowy ground a few times before looking at Harry expectantly.

“You want me to knock,” Harry translated. He received a dip of the head and another push forward. “Well… if you say so…”

So Harry walked up to the tree with Buckbeak behind him and knocked on the wood, lightly and without confidence that something would ever happen. But he was so, so wrong.

“ _Who’re you?”_ yelled a voice out of nowhere. Harry jumped. He scanned the horizon for a sign of a person, but there was no one. Besides, that voice had come from somewhere rather close to him…

 _“I_ said _, who are you?!”_ the voice yelled again. This time, Harry immediately tracked it to… his feet? He looked down, and only then saw an opening at the base of the tree, large enough for someone to climb down it.

“Uh,” Harry spoke, using a louder voice and feeling somewhat silly, “I’m Scarred. Hagrid sent me, with Buckbeak.”

_“Buckbeak? Did you say Buckbeak?”_

“…Yes?”

_“Stay RIGHT there! Don’t move!”_

The player blinked, but obeyed anyway. A few seconds later, a rustling sound came from the tree, slowly making its way to the hole at the base. Harry watched in fascination as a black _dog_ crawled out, looked at him, yipped once, and transformed into a man all in the matter of five seconds.

He knew anything was possible in virtual reality, but… this was taking it a bit far.

Harry furrowed his brows and before the man could say anything, shot a question at him. “Do you _seriously_ live _inside_ a tree?”

For some reason, the man grinned. It would’ve been a more attractive smile if his skin wasn’t lightly covered in dirt, and his hair wasn’t a bird’s nest. Harry was sure if the man had a good bath, the black ringlets would be quite fetching. “Well, I _do_ live in a tree. And I _do_ like to live Sirius-ly!”

 _…What._ Harry blinked. “I’m sorry, was that a joke?”

The man just kept grinning. Finally, as if he could take it no more, he threw his head back and burst into raucous laughter. “Get it… HA! Because I’m—HAHA!—I’m Sirius… so the way I live is—HAHAHA!—Sirius… _ly_! I made an adverb out of my name! Ha _ha_!”

Harry blinked again, _slowly_. Then, wordlessly might it be added, he turned to the hippogriff next to him. He wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating or not, but Buckbeak seemed to roll his eyes.

Harry nodded. Maybe it wasn’t best staying around crazy people. Who knew if this person was a PKer. He motioned to Buckbeak, and then turned around and made a move to leave.

“Wait! Where are you going?” the man cried after he stopped laughing.

Harry almost didn’t turn around. “I’ll… leave you to your laughter,” he said awkwardly. “Hagrid says hello, by the way. Uh… goodbye.”

“Nono! It’s okay! I’m done now! We can talk! I’m sure Hagrid sent you here for _something_ … or at least, Buckbeak seems to love you, that silly beast, so I’m sure you’ve got something worth telling me!”

Harry really _was_ rather close to leaving, but Buckbeak snorted in amusement and began to push him back. _Bullocks._

“I’m Sirius. Sirius Black! Me and Buckbeak go _way_ back! I’d invite you in to have some tea, but I’m afraid it’s a bit of a mess in the trunk, _if you know what I mean_. But roots are fine!”

And just like that, Harry found himself having a conversation with an escaped convict on the roots of a tree strangely called the “Whomping Willow.” Sometimes, he _really didn’t want to know_ , but, well, after he got around the relative insanity of Black, the man was actually a nice person to talk to. A bit of a joker, but not cruel by any means. He didn’t get anything out of Black other than a “I escaped from a jail,” but Harry supposed it didn’t really matter.

If this was virtual reality and he was going to do such odd things such as ride hippogriffs and have meaningful conversations with NPCs, having such an NPC be a criminal wasn’t too far off the general list.

“You know what Scarred, I like you! You’re nothing like those uptight Lords in Nox Kingdom!”

“You’ve been to Nox?” asked an intrigued Harry. Nox Kingdom was the ruling kingdom of the South, with the main Church of Slytherin located in its capitol.

“Oh yes,” Sirius nodded, “I’ve been all over. Came from the South, actually. The Black family is a line of Slytherin nobility, but we’re also rather infamous for the Black line of insanity… I left those crazy old geezers the second I could get away!”

“So you found a home in the North…”

Sirius smirked. “No self-respecting Slytherin would willingly go into the lion’s den, unless it was for some nefarious deed. Thankfully, I don’t have very much respect for the Slytherin side of the family… I’m registered as Gryffindor now, you know.”

“Fascinating. You can change your faction?”

“Er… I was kind of the black sheep of the lot… or should I say _, white_ sheep!” Sirius chuckled at his own joke. Harry couldn’t help but grin as well, despite that he didn’t find it all too funny. Black’s smiles were just sort of contagious. “Mum blasted me off the family tapestry, called me a traitor, and ended up setting the lot on me. I was excommunicated from Slytherin faction. Oh, no it’s not like that—she wouldn’t have thrown me in jail, no matter what she thought of me—but I managed to cause quite a ruckus before I thought of making my way up here, and one thing led to another…”

Harry actually laughed at Black’s _what-can-you-do_ expression. “You sound like you had a lot of fun.”

“Oh, _I did_! My family was the stuffy, uptight type of noble that you’d see wearing those frilly dresses and all too many layers. Getting them a tad bit more than red in the face was worth every minute I spent in that jail cell! Besides, I was already relatively insane—can’t say I’m worse, can’t say I’m better now—nothing more Azkaban could do with me, really. Oh, if you plan to get up into some trouble, better avoid Azkaban. Anyone who can’t transform into an animal would go through several layers of hell and back… Those dementors are a real _bitch_ to deal with... And they don’t give you chocolate for it, I’ll tell you that!”

Buckbeak fell asleep at some point, curled at the two men’s feet to take a short nap. Harry didn’t know how long he talked to Sirius Black, but it was probably for a couple hours at least. The man told him stories of distant places and terrible monsters, having his own style of running commentary all the way through. It just made him want to explore the continent _even more_.

He was genuinely amazed at the universe of this game. The NPCs were not simply there to give explorers quests to do! They worked on their own timeline, genuinely living their lives! They not only simulated the background of the game, but also created the scenarios! Politics, intrigue, war or peace, the NPCs were major participants. Befriending them proved a valuable experience. Even the seemingly most insignificant NPC had something worthwhile to share. They lived their _lives_ in this world, after all.

 _Mortem_! A world with countless environments to brave! A world where the strong walk their own path, and the weak trail behind! It matters not what form strength and power takes, because when all is said and done, it _will_ be recognized! Harry was slowly learning this; that while Mortem could just as well emphasize your weaknesses in a pinch, so too could it emphasize all of your strengths! At some point, there will arise a situation in where skills are needed, and if you have them, Lady Luck proved on your side! However, if you did _not_ have them…

It was all dependent on what you had, and whether you were creative enough to use it.

“You know, Scarred, I can see that your adventure is going to take you very, very far,” Sirius began, “And it’ll be a perilous route you’ll walk on—yeah, you’re not disagreeing with me, are you? You know it for yourself. In that case, I think I’d like to teach you something that’ll be helpful on your journey…”

“Teach me something?”

“Yes. It’s a skill all Blacks learn since childhood, one of the secrets to our success—“Sirius huffed in laughter,”—I guess you could say it’s part of the _Black_ Arts! Ha! Get it? Because Dark Arts are forbidden, and this is a _Black_ skill? Ha!”

…Sirius’ jokes _really_ weren’t funny, but Harry couldn’t seem to stop himself from smiling anyway.

“It won’t be easy to master, but should you happen to, the effect of it will be undeniable. I think it’ll be able to help you out of some sticky situations…”

**Sirius Black has offered to teach you a new skill!**

“I’d be grateful if you taught me,” Harry said quickly.

“Well then, I’m assuming you don’t know much about mana…”

**You have learned a new skill.**

**_Every person, place, and thing possesses mana in Mortem. It is the essence of life! The soul! Where all power originates from! Without mana, mages could not cast spells, warriors could not summon their auras, and an archer’s arrow would simply be a flying point. Not even thieves could slink along the shadows undetected!_ **

**_With your new understanding and respect of mana, your eyes have been granted a new ability._ **

**Mana Reader Beginner Level 1 (0%): Allows you to read the flow of mana in people, objects, and the environment.**

**At the beginner level, mana will be consumed per second for the duration you have your sight activated. However, certain events may trigger Mana Reader to be activated without your command.**

* * *

**Net gains:**

**Wisdom +1**

**Stamina +3**

**Strength +3**

**Level +3**

**2 new skills gained- Hippogriff Riding, Mana Reader**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long fic inc. haha...
> 
> Okay so, what's probably going to happen is I'm going to switch between Tom & Harry's back stories until they finally meet :p.
> 
> Note there'll be time skips because no one really wants to read about mindless grinding. n_nv


	3. Entry III: The Skill with the Highest Potential

Harry sighed as he took in the sights of Little Hippogriff with new eyes. He’d been at this for at least an hour, and his eyes were getting tired. He idly rubbed them as he called for his stat window to open.

**Mana Reader Beginner Level 3 (10%): Allows you to read the flow of mana in people, objects, and the environment.**

**Through careful observation, you can now recognize the mana flow of civilians and average villages.**

**At the beginner level, mana will be consumed per second for the duration you have your sight activated. However, certain events may trigger Mana Reader to be activated without your command.**

Mana Reader, the skill he’d learned from Sirius Black! Harry hadn’t seen any merit in it immediately, but certainly there would be something at the end of the road if it was a skill only taught to the noble and ancient house of Black. The first time he used the skill, he’d immediately been assaulted with the sight of swirling light, gently filling each and every person (as well as the whole village) in its glow.  It was _mana_ , he’d come to realize.

Mana, the _soul_. He could see it now, usually calm and smooth with little change. Occasionally when someone was distressed it would stagger, gaining an erratic pattern, but for every day nuisances, there wasn’t much affect. Sometimes while observing it, his intelligence or wisdom would increase slightly.

At first it filled the bar very quickly as long as he sat and watched the flow, but immediately as he started to doze off, the experience gain stopped. Harry figured he couldn’t just leave his sight on either to level it up—it was not only _impossible_ due to his low mana pool, but there was no affect if he didn’t pay attention and earnestly take in his surroundings.

Before Harry had stopped to take a rest from training, he’d been fighting wolves in the twilight and then under the lighting of the moon. Rabbits were far too simple, and the few wolves that _were_ around in the day time were hunted by the other beginners, usually in groups.

He hadn’t found a group of his own, of course (no one had invited him, and he hadn’t felt the need to find one on his own accord), so he’d had to fight the wolves alone. While he couldn’t take on more than one at once, it was still rather decent exp. He’d finally reached level eleven. Four more levels until job advancement.

Most RPGs had their job advancement at level 10—but _Witches and Wizards_ set their bar at 15 to ensure all players had both combat _and_ quest-based experience before they got their class skills. It wasn’t too troublesome—experience gain was still fast at these lower levels, and probably better even in a party.

As his goal was a secret class, Harry knew it wouldn’t be _easy_ to get, but asking the warrior job instructor once he was an appropriate level couldn’t hurt to see if he could get a hint or two. And if not the warrior instructor, then the martial arts instructor. Doing everything on your own was impossible in the game—you _needed_ to talk to NPCs to get information. There was no other way around it, and considering that he didn’t even have a party to ask—

Harry stood up from his seat at the fountain. It was time to start training again, and he’d seen several other players getting wolf hunting quests from an NPC not far from where he was.

* * *

**Wolf Hunt Quest**

**_The local wolf population has been rapidly increasing, and the new influx has proved a danger to Little Hippogriff’s chickens and sheep. Help investigate and decrease the population of the wolves for a reward._ **

**Difficulty: E**

0 **/5 Wolves**

***This quest is repeatable**

***Recommended to complete with a party**

Harry completed the quest five times before he got a different dialogue from the NPC.

“You’ve done a lot of work to help us out,” the old man said. “I thank you on behalf of the village.”

Harry nodded and swiped away the reward message without even looking at it. 10 sickles and a decent nugget of experience, as usual. “Not a problem. Do you still need any more help?”

The old man gave him a tired smile. “If you could? For some reason, the population doesn’t seem to be decreasing, no matter how many adventurers I send off…”

Harry frowned. That was new. It was rare a common quest would mention the others who had accepted it. “How many have you sent?”

“I can’t recall—more than five, certainly. Some are like you, coming back time and time again, but most if not all I gave to groups. You see, I thought for sure that a group of adventurers could investigate and find out what was wrong…”

“But no one did?”

“No one has said anything,” the NPC shrugged.

Harry discreetly checked his quest list, and there it was, clear as day— _help investigate_. Had it been that everyone had missed an integral part of this quest? “I’ll be sure to check it out for you.”

“Oh, would you? I could keep sending out adventurers to hunt these pesky wolves, but it really would be better if we could stop them… If it helps, most adventurers have been hunting them in the plains. I haven’t heard anyone come from the forest yet. Maybe whatever’s causing the increase in wolves is hidden there?”

**Investigate the Forest Quest**

**_According to the old man, the origin of the wolves’ multiplication may be in the forest. Go investigate, and report your findings back to the old man._ **

**Difficulty: E**

***Wolf Hunt -- > Investigate the Forest --> ??? Chain**

* * *

A few minutes into his search of the forest, Harry began to wonder if there was something he was missing. The forest was huge—searching it all would be inefficient. There _had_ to be something he could use, or a landmark of sorts to start from. So he paused, sat on a bulging root, and thought.

… _Maybe—_

“Mana Reader!”

The skill Sirius Black gave him! Harry had no idea what the requirements were to take the old man’s chain quest from an originally normal hunting request; it could've been five times, address what he said; five times, have high friendship with the villagers; anything! So it was also possible that he might've gotten the quest because of this skill, Mana Reader!

It was entirely possible that the reason the old man thought he could investigate the forest properly, thus pointing out a part of the original quest that no one noticed, was because Harry could read the mana of his surroundings, and find any abnormalities!

Harry turned his head from side to side, scanning his surroundings with his new sight. It was curious how every little thing had the glow to it—the trees, their leaves, the ground. As to probably not blind him, the glow was dim in these surroundings. The only violent glow he had ever seen came from people, be they NPCs or players.

A moving glow caught his attention in the distance. Harry squinted, and slowly began to approach. It didn't look like the mana of a person. When he was close to the tree it was coming from, the mana seemed to _jerk_ , reeling back and then lunging at him with a frightening speed. Harry ducked, and the wolf flew right over his head. Had he not seen the mana, it was likely the surprise attack might’ve lead to his end!

There was a snarl behind him. Harry quickly spun around and reoriented himself for battle. With his Sight, he could see every little nuance of the wolf! How aggressively its mana churned, how the mana built up in its feet, and then—

Harry slashed with his dagger at the moment the wolf was right in front of him. It yowled in pain, dropped, and leaped back. By focusing on its mana flow, Harry could predict its motion, and using this, he easily landed a few more slashes before finally finishing it off with a cut to the neck.

**Mana Reader has leveled up.**

“Skills!”

**Mana Reader Beginner Level 4 (0%): Allows you to read the flow of mana in people, objects, and the environment.**

**Through careful observation, you can now not only recognize the mana flow of civilians and monsters, but also use your understanding to predict movement.**

**At the beginner level, mana will be consumed per second for the duration you have your sight activated. However, certain events may trigger Mana Reader to be activated without your command.**

Harry blinked, and then frantically rubbed his eyes, feeling the sleepy grime stuck in the corners. Mana Reader was turning out to be useful, but he was all out of mana already. It certainly wouldn't be able to help him until he had either higher regen or a higher max. Maybe he should put points in his MP when he leveled up? Wisdom would help with his regeneration rate…

Either way, he couldn't do anything _now_. Harry decided to rest up before continuing his search. Unless he could get some more mana, this quest would probably take him awhile.

* * *

Between his usages of Mana Reader were long periods of rest. Harry found that his mana regeneration was only a measly 5 per 10 seconds, but couldn't actually resolve to only use the skill for the quest. Every time he killed a wolf with the skill on was valuable experience. Sometimes he would notice something different about the mana, and have to figure out what that was. His wisdom also raised a very slight amount, but any at all was useful, since warriors weren't prone to actively investing stat points into it.

Harry was slowly training up his ability to use Mana Reader! Skills and skill levels meant nothing if one didn't know how to use them! And Mana Reader, the skill that appeared useless at first, was slowly proving that it was actually a skill with very high potential! Harry had barely scrapped the surface at beginner level 4!

He was now level 14 from hunting wolves both with his Sight on and off. A respectable level raise from hunting in the forest, but he still didn't find out what the quest meant. The wolf population here was thin, which was one of the reasons why players didn't hunt here. Harry didn't understand why the old man wanted him to look around where the exact opposite of the problem was!

Should he go back and say he hadn't found anything? Maybe then the old man would tell him to search in the fields instead…

Harry frowned. But he said he'd report at least _some_ news. Maybe he wasn't going about this right?

…He needed to find another wolf.

Harry found it very strange that all of the wolves in the forest were loners. He had never seen two wolves at once here, while in the fields there were loners as well as groups of two or three. And something was wrong about that. Monster AIs should follow similar patterns within their own species. Harry didn't think the programmers would make two different personalities of wolves for the field and the forest unless there was a reason, especially as according to the name they were the same type of wolf.

Once he found an unsuspecting wolf, Harry decided to follow it! He tried to be as quiet as possible, and keep his distance carefully out of the range of its senses. Each of his steps were too loud in his opinion, so with each one he tried to get quieter and quieter.

**You have learned a new skill:**

**Prowl Beginner Level 1 (0%): Stalking silently with your inner predator, you have learned to adjust your whole body for the sole purpose of the hunt.**

**Passive: Stealth and speed increases with level of skill. (Stealth +2, Agility +2)**

**Active (Prowl Mode): Hides your killing intent; attacking will turn off Prowl mode. Cannot enter Prowl mode if in battle, or in plain sight. While Prowling, decreased chance of catching the attention of enemies depending on level difference. The first attack made will be more effective.**

Huh. Useful. Berserkers weren't exactly known for their subtlety, so Harry probably wouldn't use it often, but the more skills the better! Besides, it helped _now_. And now he knew he could learn different classes’ skills with some creativity.

Following the wolf, Harry was lead deeper and deeper into the forest. He didn't know how he was to eventually get back out, but he'd cross that bridge once he got to it. For all he knew he might be wasting his time, but Harry continued following because he had a hunch, and it was telling him to see it through.

In the world of Mortem, a player’s instincts could get them far! Honed by game play where they live or die depending on how well they can handle situations, players learn and develop the more they play! You don't need prior experience to profit from this aspect of _Witches and Wizards_! It exists to even the playing field. Those with experience start out ahead, and those without it learn! This is the type of place Harry had landed himself into—and this was the type of place Scarred, the legendary Berserker, would be born!

Harry didn't know how far he went following that lone wolf, but eventually with his Sight on, he saw another concentration of mana up ahead. It was another wolf! But for some reason, it looked bigger than the wolves he was used to…

As he approached, he was finally able to see the wolf. And it _was_ different. In fact, it was a whole other type! On top of its head in orange text read “Sentry Wolf”. The monster Harry had been following approached it, and they seemed to communicate with some growls and grunts. It was a sight Harry had never seen before—communication between mobs at such an early level! It existed among the more intelligent species, like elves and goblins, but with low level wolves? Near unheard of!

When the normal wolf turned and went back the way it came, Harry stayed. His eyes were trained on the Sentry Wolf, and how its mana flowed. There was a difference in all creatures, as they had different purposes and behaviors. While the normal wolves had aggressive, rapidly cycling mana, the Sentry Wolf had a heavier, restrained flow. It was built defensively, with an inclination to stand its ground and intimidate its foes with its size.

Harry was almost certain that he could find out more information through watching the flow of mana. He was too inexperienced to recognize everything, but he was slowly learning the tendencies and connecting them to behaviors—he was trying to read the story mana weaved, without even knowing the language it was written in! But he was managing, somehow.

He watched the Sentry Wolf for a few more minutes, recovering his mana slowly, but it did not move from its spot. It was alert, however, and the orange name told Harry that it was higher level than him, which meant he would need to be careful if he wanted to Prowl past. White names were the same level as he was, and the closer it moved to neon green, the lower the level it was compared to Harry’s. The closer it moved to bright red, the higher the level it was.

If one wanted to know the exact level of a monster, they would need to use the Observe skill, which was gained through a class or careful observation of all the surroundings.

Harry decided there wouldn't be any gain to staying here any longer, and he wanted to test the strength of the Sentry Wolf. He slunk around to another tree so he wasn't in front of it, and then struck with his dagger.

A critical hit at the shoulder blade! It was the first attack out of Prowl mode.

The Sentry Wolf snarled, now alert to the enemy, and tried to get a bite onto his arm, but Harry dodged seeing the mana flow build at the neck and jaw, and he darted below and slashed at the hind legs. It continued much in this manner when Harry realized that the Sentry Wolf was slow and clunky with its bulkier build. Its attacks were strong if they landed, but as long as they didn't—

Harry grabbed a handful of snow from the ground and then threw it at his opponent’s eyes.

**Sentry Wolf has been blinded.**

He took the opportunity to run around, leap onto the Sentry Wolf’s back, and then land another critical hit by slashing at the neck. After a few more attacks it died, leaving behind a pile of leather and knuts with a healthy chunk of experience.

It hadn’t been too difficult, but the few attacks that the Sentry Wolf had been able to land on him definitely hurt. If he had to fight more than one at a single time, it would certainly be back to the rebirth point for him. Harry moved to sit down a few ways away to recover a bit before continuing on. He needed his mana to recover again in order to check his surroundings—it was clear he was in a different section of the forest now. Just how big was it, really?

And what other monsters were here?

Undoubtedly, these periods of rest were an obstacle he’d need to get past later on, either by bringing potions with him or increasing his regeneration. In areas were monster populations were denser, it would become a problem if he needed to rest after every battle. There would be little to no safe spots, and hunting like this was inefficient anyway. He’d just have to deal with it for now, but on the next quest he went on, Harry would have to have some alternatives.

With Mana Reader on, Harry could see another concentration of mana off into the distance, though it was indeed a far way off. He squinted, trying to make out whether or not it was a monster, but couldn’t say. He was still too far away. With that in mind, he turned on Prowl mode just in case and made his way further into the forest, his boots quiet in the snow.

The closer he got to the concentration, the more he wondered at how _big_ it was. Because if he could see it at such a far distance away, then maybe—

Well, it definitely wasn’t a monster. He knew that much. Going over what little information he had, Harry figured it might be some significant landmark. There were even places like that in the village—small places of no real significance that seemed to have a higher concentration of mana. One was the village square, at the fountain where he sat. The water was clean and available for drink, and Harry theorized that it was naturally connected to some source that could purify it. Whatever it was, it harmlessly generated a lot of mana.

In this case, whatever was up ahead might be the same.

With that theory, Harry continued on through the forest using his eyes as his guide. He did not keep Mana Reader active—that would drain too much mana, and he’d need the resource if he ran into another Sentry Wolf. Instead, Harry would walk for awhile, striking down the wolves he ran across—and if it was a Sentry, he’d activate his Sight and fight it.

Once he walked for awhile with his Sight off, he’d quickly turn it on again and check where the large mana pool was. Hopefully he’d be traveling the right way and could continue on—if not, Harry would redirect his path and make a mark on a tree nearby with his knife to serve as a reminder not to go backwards.

In this manner, he finally reached his destination at level 15.

**You have encountered the “Tree of Ages” of Wolf Forest for the first time. Wisdom +10, Intelligence +10, Luck +5, Fame +50.**

**Mana Reader is automatically activated. No MP will be used while Mana Reader is active as long you are in the presence of the Tree of Ages.**

**You are in the presence of a “Tree of Ages”. The spirit of Wolf Forest’s Tree of Ages blesses you.**

**For 12 hours, passively receive:**

**Cold Resistance +50%**

**Mana Recovery +50%**

**Health +500**

**Mana +500**

**Strength +20**

**Stamina +10**

**Fatigue Recovery Speed +2X**

The Tree of Ages was unlike anything Harry had ever seen! Throughout the whole tree, a warm green glow lit the clearing. Spheres of the same glowing light gently rained down from the boughs, some floating in random, ditzy patterns while others lazily descended like feathers. Harry knew he was in the presence of something great.

Not to mention, a ridiculous boost in stats! Harry checked his stat window to see the total gain, and seeing some unused stat points, quickly invested them.

**Name: Scarred ~ Level: 15 ~ Race: Human**

**Faction: Gryffindor ~ Class: None**

**Title: None ~ Fame: 55**

**Health: 500 (+500) ~ Mana: 100 (+500)**

**Strength: 55 (+20) ~ Stamina: 27 (+10)**

**Intellect: 24 ~ Wisdom: 25**

**Luck: 15 ~ Agility: 26 (+1)**

**Stealth: 2**

**Attack: 0 (+3) ~ Defense: 0 (+4)**

**Fullness: 80 ~ Fatigue: 40**

Up until this point, Harry had been investing his points on a 3-1-1 basis, distributing the 5 points gained each level (starting at level two) in that manner. In total, 70 points were used so far—fourteen times, the points went into his stats as such: three points in strength, one point in stamina, and one point in agility. Harry had not invested any points in health, mana, luck, or wisdom!

This was because once he gained a class, the amount of health and mana he would receive upon leveling up would be dependent on the strength and intellect, respectively. Not to mention, since he was going to be a berserker, intellect, wisdom, and luck weren’t as imperative as strength, stamina, and agility were.

While intelligence boosted the amount of mana one had as well as the power of spells, wisdom boosted the rate of mana recovery. Strength and stamina were similar for physical aspects—the former boosting the amount of health one had as well as the power of physical attacks, and the latter boosting the rate of health recovery (as well as slowing the rate of fatigue gain). Stamina also allowed for more weight to be carried, a precious resource at the higher levels where dungeons were longer and the amount of loot gained increased.

Luck boosted the rate of critical strikes, though that could also be consciously done by hitting vulnerable areas on monsters (such as the eyes, the neck, the back of the knees, etc.)—which Harry had been doing in most every battle. Luck also raised the chance of getting a good item drop from a monster, as well as the chance of incoming long range attacks missing. It also served as a sense—in higher level dungeons where there were traps, if one had high luck it was likely that said player could sense where the traps were.

Agility, while obviously increasing the speed one could move at, also increased evasiveness—the ability to dodge attacks. Most classes wanted to put some points in agility at the beginning, because movement (in any form) was simply vital. While tanky warriors with bulky armor would need it less, it was still a good idea to invest some points early on into agility.

Intelligence and wisdom were mostly for mages, stamina and strength for warriors, and for rogues and archers, luck was vital. The latter two also had another stat—dexterity, which also had multiple effects but most importantly boosted the power of long range attacks—that was obtained once they gained their class. Other classes had to get dexterity from some other means if they so desired it.

Attack and defense were two stats that could not be raised through stat points. One needed to gain them through action, skills, or equipment—most people simply used the latter, as gaining attack and defense through action was difficult and tedious. However, they were very important stats—attack boosting damage done to a monster more than strength did, and defense softening the blow more than a large health pool could tank.

Health was truly nothing without defense!

The attack and defense Harry had now was from his knife and newbie equips—a tunic, a pair of pants, some moccasins, and gloves. Later he would upgrade his equipment if possible, but for now his overarching goal was to become a berserker. Afterwards everything else could be decided.

Focusing back onto the Tree of Ages, Harry wondered exactly what it was. The system notices that had popped up like crazy had referred to it as “a”—so were there more of these trees out there? Where? Why were they so important?

Certainly, Harry mused as he stood in awe of the mana around him, these trees were incredible. The snow around the tree’s base was melted—there was even some grass growing in little patches! Imagine, grass in the North! In a monster area!—and the tree itself stood at an enormous thirty meters! Most notably, that was about double the height of the pine trees that made up the forest, and the Tree of Ages itself was not an evergreen. Its trunk looked like a yew tree, yes, but its leaves looked more like a sycamore’s with their star shape.

 How strange.

Harry slowly made his way around the large tree, circling its base while walking on top of the bulging roots. Its trunk was large—at least three meters in diameter—and Harry gently traced the bark with his hands.

He blinked. It was warm—no wonder the buff gave him cold resistance! Harry knelt down and touched the roots, feeling that they too were warm. Mana flowed smooth and calm throughout the entire tree, so soft and so abundant that he could literally feel it with his body.

Harry squinted, managing to make out little splotches of mana that were… _different_. The difference was barely visible—as if they were fading—and only on the surface, but something about them was familiar. He continued to stare at it, trying to rummage through his mind of _what_ the splotches reminded him of, until he finally figured out.

Animal footprints.

More specifically, a wolf’s.

Harry froze, looking around. He had been so accustomed to the wolf’s lone nature in the forest that he didn’t account for his own position! His guard had been lax! A quick survey of the area showed him that he was safe, but Harry promised himself he wouldn’t be so relaxed in a monster area again. That was dangerous. He didn’t want to get killed and have to wait twenty four hours in real life before making the trek back here.

Now that he knew what the splotches were, Harry looked around the ground and roots for similar markings, and there were a lot of them. Fading, clear—old and new, they were definitely paw marks! As Harry looked around some more, he found smaller footprints, like a rabbit’s, and even some claw marks of a little bird.

Harry frowned. Most of them were wolves though—and those of other animals were almost completely faded. Why? Did this have something to do with the recent growth in wolf population?

**Mana Reader has gained a significant amount of proficiency.**

**Mana Reader has leveled up.**

“Skills!”

**Mana Reader Beginner Level 5 (64%): Allows you to read the flow of mana in people, objects, and the environment.**

**Through careful observation, you can now not only recognize the mana flow of civilians and monsters, but also use your understanding to predict movement.**

**You can now read the traces of mana left in the environment and observe them to learn more details. At higher proficiency, more information can be gained.**

**At the beginner level, mana will be consumed per second for the duration you have your sight activated. However, certain events may trigger Mana Reader to be activated without your command.**

“Uh—wow,” he couldn’t help but say once he saw the percentage. This trip was turning out to be _incredibly_ profitable—a level up _and_ 64% more for Mana Reader, _and_ an additional effect? Harry wondered if visiting other Trees of Ages would give him similar experiences. If so, tracking them down and visiting would be well worth the effort.

The additional effect was something to be noted, though. Observing the traces of mana? That sounded interesting. And useful. _Definitely_ useful.

Harry dismissed his skill window and looked back to the markings, now noticing transparent white text over all of them. Those closest to him were more legible, and those farthest away were little more than blurs. The more he focused on a particular spot, the clearer the words in the spot were.

“Wolf’s trace,” read one. “Hare’s trace,” read another. “[Unknown species] Bird’s trace,” was yet another. All of them floated above the respective splotch of mana that Harry had previously noticed.

The skill also said he could observe to learn more details, but all he saw was the name. Well, calling out names was the norm to activate skills—but his Mana Reader was already in effect because of the Tree of Ages. What to do…

Harry felt embarrassed shouting random things, but it wasn’t like anyone was around, so…?

“O-Observe!” he called. Nothing happened.

**You do not have that skill.**

“Thanks, system,” Harry muttered sarcastically. “It’s not like I didn’t know _that_ already. Maybe… Details?”

“Read?”

More silence.

“Learn!”

**You do not have a skill book to learn.**

Harry groaned. Maybe the description was lying to him. Wait—that was it—!

“Description!” he shouted, feeling rather confident and smart.

**New User Tip: Skill words are commonly verbs. Please try “Observe” instead.**

“I already _did that_ you stupid system! Ugh!”

Harry stomped his foot and let out an angry sigh. The feeling of something solid meeting the force of his foot was satisfying, but afterward definitely felt childish and, if anything, made him feel even _more_ embarrassed. “I just want to Mana Read this thing!”

The sound of a single bell ringing rang throughout the clearing.

**Mana Reader sub-active command activated, but cannot be used. To use, focus on object and call activation sequence through voice command. New User Tip: to show all activation sequences, go to “Menu” and “Options”.**

“…There was a—” Harry snarled and felt the urge to punch something extremely hard. “I read the manual! There was nothing about that in there! God damn it—”

“Menu! Options!”

When Harry viewed the transparent screen in front of him, there was indeed a “Show all activation sequences” option. And, of course, the default was on “no”. Quickly he pressed “yes” instead, and opened up his skill window to see if there was any difference.

…There was.

For his skill Mana Reader, it now looked like:

**Mana Reader Beginner Level 5 (64%): Allows you to read the flow of mana in people, objects, and the environment.**

**Through careful observation, you can now not only recognize the mana flow of civilians and monsters, but also use your understanding to predict movement.**

**You can now read the traces of mana left in the environment and observe them to learn more details. At higher proficiency, more information can be gained.**

**At the beginner level, mana will be consumed per second for the duration you have your sight activated. However, certain events may trigger Mana Reader to be activated without your command.**

**[Activate: “Mana Reader”; Sub-active: “Mana Read”]**

“ _No_ should definitely _not_ be the default for that setting,” Harry grumbled. He began to check through his other skills in the list.

**Hippogriff Riding Beginner Level 3 (12%): You are now able to ride a hippogriff in flight without falling off. Because this skill is at beginner level, you still experience discomfort and tire. Also, the hippogriff you are riding will obey you only depending on your intimacy with it.**

**The more the skill level increases, the more likely your hippogriff will obey you and the less discomfort you will feel.**

**[Activate: No voice command; mount hippogriff. At intermediate level, able to summon hippogriff from anywhere with voice command.]**

Harry made a mental note to go back to Hagrid’s stables and ask if he could ride Buckbeak some more. Summoning something from _anywhere_ sounded useful.

**Prowl Beginner Level 2 (35%): Stalking silently with your inner predator, you have learned to adjust your whole body for the sole purpose of the hunt.**

**Passive: Stealth and speed increases with level of skill. (Stealth +4, Agility +4)**

**Active (Prowl Mode): Hides your killing intent; attacking will turn off Prowl mode. Cannot enter Prowl mode if in battle, or in plain sight. While Prowling, decreased chance of catching the attention of enemies depending on level difference. The first attack made will be more effective.**

**[Activate: “Prowl” (note: unlike other voice commands, monsters will not notice usage of Prowl)]**

_Alright—good to know._ Harry made another mental note not to turn this option off. It was mostly common sense, but he didn’t want another debacle like the whole Mana Reader versus Mana Read business. Now that that tangent was over with…

“Mana Read!”

**Wolf’s Trace**

**An old footprint made by a wolf. Because a long time has passed, the physical print has faded but the mana trace has yet to disappear. Normal eyes cannot see it. Only someone who can see mana can notice it.**

**Durability: 4/10**

Harry wondered if using “Mana Read” cost any mana. Of course it wouldn’t when he was near the Tree of Ages, but probably outside the area? Since Mana Reader might need to be activated at the same time…

Hm. Guess it was best to milk his no-mana cost for as much as he could. Mana Read _did_ give skill EXP…

“Mana Read!”

**Hare’s Trace**

**A very old footprint made by a hare. Because a long time has passed, the physical print has faded but the mana trace has yet to disappear. Normal eyes cannot see it. Only someone who can see mana can notice it.**

**Durability: 1/10**

“Mana Read!”

**[Unknown Species] Bird’s Trace**

**A very old footprint made by a bird of an unknown species. Judging from the size of the claw, it was not a bird of prey. If you saw the species, you could probably recognize the print because the mana flow would be similar.**

**Because a long time has passed, the physical print has faded but the mana trace has yet to disappear. Normal eyes cannot see it. Only someone who can see mana can notice it.**

**Durability: 1/10**

“Mana Read!”

…

It continued on in that vein for awhile, rather boring grinding but at least Mana Reader’s skill proficiency went up. Harry didn’t know how many footprints he went through until he finally got a new message.

**Wolf’s Trace**

**A very old footprint made by a wolf’s mana. Compared to the other wolf traces you’ve seen, this one looks smaller.**

**… _Refreshing_ …**

**Wolf Pup’s Trace**

**A very old footprint made by a wolf pup’s mana. It was made when the wolf pup was still learning to walk. Not far away you can probably find traces of its mother. This wolf pup has probably already grown into an adolescent wolf by now, learning how to guard its pack’s territory.**

**Durability: 2/10**

Harry took in the information, blinked, and then ran to one of the other traces he’d observed before. “Mana Read!” he called, wanting to compare the old with the new information.

**[Unknown Species] Bird’s Trace**

**A very old footprint made by a bird’s mana. You do not recognize the species. Though the mana left is weak, you can still observe its flow. It looks like the bird was preparing for a frantic flight when it made this mark. It was probably being attacked.**

**Durability: 1/10**

Harry winced. Well, there _were_ a lot of wolf traces here… Maybe the bird was attacked by one of the wolves? Harry recounted all the times that he had accidentally taken aggro of a couple of the monsters at once. Poor bird…

**By recognizing the bird’s plight and sympathizing, you have successfully put the mana to rest.**

What a strange message. Wait—this wasn’t a funeral! The bird escaped, didn’t it?! Harry twitched. The game’s system was terrible! Whoever programmed it was probably some sociopath with a twisted humor.

The second he swiped away the window, the splotch on the ground disappeared.

**You have absorbed the mana of [Unknown Species] Bird’s Trace!**

**Intelligence +1**

**Wisdom +1**

**Maximum Mana +5**

**Because the mana of [Unknown Species] Bird was compatible with yours, Agility +1.**

**Mana Reader has gained a significant amount of proficiency.**

**Mana Reader has leveled up.**

Harry sighed as the ache in his head grew more prominent. Maybe it was time to take a break…

“Ugh… Skills!”

**Mana Reader Beginner Level 6 (13%): Allows you to read the flow of mana in people, objects, and the environment.**

**Through careful observation, you can now not only recognize the mana flow of civilians and monsters, but also use your understanding to predict movement.**

**You can now read the traces of mana left in the environment and observe them to learn more details. At higher proficiency, more information can be gained.**

**1% chance to absorb the mana of your surroundings in very small amounts. +20% if you are able to put the mana to rest. If the mana is compatible with your own, a reward is given. If it is incompatible, the consequences are dire…**

**At the beginner level, mana will be consumed per second for the duration you have your sight activated. However, certain events may trigger Mana Reader to be activated without your command.**

**[Activate: “Mana Reader”; Sub-active: “Mana Read”]**

Harry read the additional effect with a sense of foreboding. It is said it takes high risk to gain high rewards, and nothing comes for free! That was a saying Harry believed in wholeheartedly. As he continued to further explore the potential of Mana Reader, Harry began to realize that it wasn’t as passive as he first thought!

His first impression of the skill was like a type of buff, and a way to gain stat points that he would not normally raise. Now, Mana Reader was a gate! And Harry was blind—it was his choice whether or not he wished to open it, without knowing what was on the other side!

Whether it was fantastical beasts…

All the riches he could ever imagine…

Creatures from the depths of his nightmares…

Or curses originating from the blackest, wickedest pits of Hell!

Harry knew none of it. He could _see_ none of it—for all he knew, there could be both lying in wait for him on the other side of the gate! It could be where all of his dreams were, waiting for him to grasp them, _and_ it could be where all of his nightmares lied, waiting to devour him and never let go! Mana Reader, the skill taught to him by Sirius Black…

A Black Arts indeed. Only Slytherins would make such an ominous high-risk, high-reward skill, and indeed take the risk for the reward! _They_ would know what the risk was, _they_ would know what the reward was, and _they_ were able to weigh both on a balance beam and decide whether or not to proceed. Harry… Harry could not.

But Harry was a Gryffindor now.

And for lions, the risk is _always_ worth the reward.

* * *

**Name: Scarred ~ Level: 15 ~ Race: Human**

**Faction: Gryffindor ~ Class: None**

**Title: None ~ Fame: 55**

**Health: 500 (+500) ~ Mana: 105 (+500)**

**Strength: 55 (+20) ~ Stamina: 27 (+10)**

**Intellect: 25 ~ Wisdom: 26**

**Luck: 15 ~ Agility: 29 (+1)**

**Stealth: 4**

**Attack: 0 (+3) ~ Defense: 0 (+4)**

**Fullness: 57 ~ Fatigue: 15**

...

_Was he still on the path to becoming a berserker?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Updating the fics that don't need updates mhm that's my agenda!
> 
> ./cry
> 
> Actually this chapter has been done for awhile, I just needed to do the stat calculations ./facepalm. Stats are hard! I totally forgot that I'd have to give values when I'm writing a fic like this! If you have any questions about them, please ask. I tried to explain it without taking a whole chapter on them.
> 
> Man look at those stats. Idk man, Harry could be a really good Magic Knight or something similar with that steadily growing INT and WIS. But ofc we know he ends up as a Bishop... Still, who knows what happens to him before he becomes Head Priest haha xD
> 
> Btw I lied--I'm probably not going to change chapters between Harry and Tom every other. I'll just go with the flow (meaning once they get job advanced then I'll switch every other, or something similar to every other). You'll definitely get a lot of Tom though, because as far as I'm concerned both Tom and Harry are equally main characters (I just haven't introduced him yet harumph).
> 
> YAY 2015! ./sob


	4. Entry IV: The Mysterious Source of Mana

When Harry looked back at the Tree of Ages, he was surprised to see a similar faded white text on top of the bark. “Tree of Ages – Wolf Forest” it read. So there really must be more Trees like this.

None of the traces had their location listed in the white text—certainly it was to distinguish a Tree of Ages from another in a different location. Harry could probably sit there and hypothesize a theory for the Tree of Ages’ existence, but it was probably much easier to Mana Read it and go from what information was available.

“Mana Read!”

**Tree of Ages – Wolf Forest**

**A tree that has evolved from absorbing a great amount of mana; so much so that it radiates in astounding degrees. The evolution process takes hundreds of years.**

**The wood of a Tree of Ages is highly receptive to mana from any other source. This absorption ability makes it desirable to use in weapon crafting, as the weapon would likely take on magical properties. However, the Tree itself cannot be cut down by normal means—a single twig from a Tree of Ages is incredibly rare.**

**Because of its high mana emission, a Tree of Ages is likely to attract many monsters. The area directly in its presence is neutral grounds—all monsters instantly become nonaggressive to players due to the mana’s calming nature.**

**This particular Tree of Ages is located in Wolf Forest. For some reason, there appears to be no monsters around…?**

Harry frowned. As informative as that was, it wasn't enough. It didn't answer any of his most important questions! The description had a point—why were there no monsters around?

There were _traces_ of monsters—tons. Different _kinds_ of monsters that he hadn't seen at all in the forest. But as time passed, more and more wolf traces appeared while there was an utter lack of the other monsters coming and going. Why? What happened to them? And why were there no monsters around _now_? Harry thought back to the bird whose trace he had absorbed.

…Could it be possible that the wolves had something to do with their disappearance? Did they claim their territory and force all the other monsters to leave? While that didn't sound like a game’s programmed behavior for monsters, it _did_ make sense. But… where were the wolves now?

Harry sat down on the bulging roots and gave it a bit more thought. He tried to put all the clues he had together.

Forest. Different from plains—wolves travel alone. No real other monsters aside from the wolves… he hadn't even seen a bird. But the canines communicated with each other briefly, and then seemed to go back. Back where? Their programmed area? Their original spawning spot? Their… Their…

Wait a second. The only communication he had seen was between an ordinary wolf and a Sentry Wolf… _Sentry_. Scouts. Defensive mana rather than offensive… Sentinel. Protecting something. Protecting—

Communicating information. A Wolf traveling deeper into the forest for the express purpose of telling a Sentry Wolf something… and the Sentry Wolf’s location was farther into the forest because that was closer to _what it was protecting._

“Holy fuck,” Harry whispered. His eyes went wide with the realization—the realization that— “The wolves are guarding the Tree of Ages!”

But… but why? Surely there was a _reason_. Did it have something to do with the Tree being the reason of their sudden population explosion? And if it was, how? Did mana encourage monster spawn rates or something? He needed more information.

If the wolves were instead a tribe of indigenous people, Harry would've probably hypothesized that the tribe was guarding the Tree of Ages for religious reasons—it would be integral to their religion, either as their God or the receptacle _to_ their God. But animals didn't exactly do that… Well, did they? That was a ridiculous thought in real life, but this was a _game…_

Okay. First things first, find more information. He hadn't finished circling the base of the tree yet—maybe there was something on the ground on the other side, or fresher traces to Mana Read, or some kind of note.

Harry stood and continued his route along the trunk of the tree, finding nothing unorthodox on the ground through his sight and finding nothing unusual on the bark of the tree using his touch—actually, wait a second—

Harry's hand met the edge of the bark. It wasn't supposed to do that. The trunk of the tree _had_ no edge; it was supposed to be circular! A full, complete, circle. He quickly pulled himself away from looking out into the distance and faced the Tree itself, rounding the arc and discovering, much to his surprise, a giant, gaping hole in the trunk.

…And came face to face with a Wolf.

It was like a scene from a movie, he mused. They both stood frozen there, gazes locked and breaths held. The wolf’s stare was impassive, unimpressed, and it was such an unusual expression that Harry did not think to move away until a few seconds more. When he slowly backed away, eyes on the monster in front of him, the wolf stepped forward until it was out of the strange entrance of the trunk.

It turned to look at him then, just before it reached the pine trees of the forest, and in that moment Harry swore he would get mauled by a group of wolves or something—but nothing happened. The wolf turned away and headed into the distance. Harry never saw it again.

“Non-aggressive,” Harry muttered to himself. “Right.”

He turned back to the hole.

He was taller than it, but just barely by a head or so. It reminded him of the hole in the Whomping Willow, only this one wasn't as small or well-hidden. Whatever it was, the hole seemed to lead down in a small incline; the darkness left him unable to discern how far it went. And… Um… Well, a normal Wolf monster came out of it. Probably not as strange as Sirius Black coming out of a tree, but…

Honestly! Harry scowled. What was with this game and things living inside trees?! Was this some sort of reference or symbol?! He really didn't want to think there was a meaning behind, instead of tree _houses_ , tree… tree _holes_. Or whatever they were called.

…Could he Mana Read it?

“Mana Read!”

**Tree Hollow**

**A hollow in the trunk of a Tree of Ages. It appears to lead somewhere underground, and seems to be well-used. While not visible at the entrance, you can feel a certain sense of calm bleed through your mana.**

**There is a large concentration of mana radiation coming from the hole. It is highly possible that the mana will physically manifest closer to the source as light.**

**…**

**Your sensitivity to mana has increased.**

Huh. He'd never seen _that_ message before. A quick check of his skills showed him he received no additional effects to Mana Reader, but the percent experience had increased. Well, either way it sounded positive. Harry considered his options.

Option one: go into the hole.

Option two: cautiously go into the hole.

Option three: return to the old man, report his findings by repeating his theory, and then probably be asked to go into the hole.

…Looks like he was going into the hole.

Besides, the Tree’s aura should keep any wolves he encountered nonaggressive, though he wasn't completely sure if they would be very happy with him entreating on their territory. He also had no idea what would happen if _he_ attacked _them_ first. Would they all attack him? Would he be chased out? Harry kind of felt like an assassin.

It wasn't like he was going in to kill things though! It was an investigation _._ He was just going to go in, look around, and then get out. And hopefully level up his Mana Reader. That was it.

But the darkness looked foreboding, and running into another wolf along the small tunnel was not on his list of top 10 things to experience again… especially in the darkness. Did he mention it was dark? While Harry wasn’t scared of the dark so to say, small tight places with not very much light _did_ have quite the connotation in his head. He liked _space_. And it seemed like there wasn’t a lot of it where he was going…

Well, it shouldn’t be _too_ deep right? He had no idea how mana traveled as of yet, or any idea of how far the distance had to be to absorb it, but it couldn’t be _too_ far from the Tree, right? So not too far down.

Besides, it was an almost everlasting winter in Gryffindor territory. Farmers had it tough—having to have special barriers over their fields to specifically allow crops not native to the region to grow. Surely the Tree would meet the same issue—its roots couldn’t go down _that_ far. Right?

Full of hesitation but ultimate resignation, Harry entered the hollow. Darkness, the smell of nutrients and soil, warm even as he descended into the earth! This was the place he entered now. The tunnel went on for awhile—Harry did not know for how long he traveled until the ceiling slowly raised and some source of light broke the pitch blackness.

Thankfully he encountered no wolves—but that was little comfort with his Mana Reader on!

Mana Reader did not need light to _See_. Harry could see all the faded, transparent white text that covered the path, even through the darkness! The ground was covered in them! A well-traveled path indeed! He didn’t want to think about what running into more than one wolf would be like, but it was constantly on his mind nevertheless with all the Wolf Traces!

However, as he got closer to the light, Harry found himself calming. Everything would be alright. Some part of higher knowledge imparted this understanding to him, a confidence only to be found in peace. He could see the soft glow of mana, _a lot of it_ , and the familiar sight warmed him.

He did not know how long it took to reach it. Along the walls of the tunnel—that was truly what it was now—Harry could see some bulging roots every now and then, or some piece of rock or mineral. The closer he got to the light, more and more rocks covered the walls instead of dirt. And for good reason, too, for what he emerged into was a _cavern_.

“Prowl!” Harry called quickly. With the mode on he was able to slink along the walls unnoticed—better safe than sorry, considering the fact that there were wolves _all over_ the place. They either loitered amongst themselves or were lying down on the cavern floor, resting and basking in the mana. There had to be at least thirty of them!

There were different kind of wolves too—Sentry Wolves and Wolves, of course, but also Wolf Pups and Juvenile Wolves, and as he carefully observed them all, he noticed two wolves that stood out—both with their size and their names.

Beta Male. Beta Female.

This was a wolf pack.

_This is why the wolves are growing—they've formed a pack—_

_Wait. Then that means there's an Alpha Male and Alpha Female—_

That was when he noticed them. A pair all the way in the back, overlooking all the wolves. They were resting on a soft bed of moss, elevated on a rock, and both their names were red. Harry focused on it a bit more, and noticed the Alpha Female’s name was slightly more orange than her counterpart’s.

They were also looking _right at him_.

Harry froze. His first encounter with a boss monster!

The battle of the gazes seemed to go on forever. Neither of them moved. While this was a good sign—they weren't attacking him!—it was somewhat more ominous than if they had stood. Harry knew he should probably leave and go back to the old man, but he also wanted to continue investigating. Where was all the mana coming from? It was not the mana of the wolves that was lighting the den! Was there a… was there a source if mana somewhere here?

Against his better judgment, Harry began to slink towards the back of the den along the walls. The Alphas’ gaze followed him, but none of the other wolves noticed. Harry kept one eye on them and one eye on where he was going. There appeared to be an entrance to another space near the back, and a beckoning glow of concentrated mana pulled him in that direction. It took a long time to get there, but he hadn't been attacked yet, so Harry figured he was doing _something_ right.

Only when he entered the side cavern did he look away from the Alpha pair.

**You have discovered a source of mana.**

**Fame +100**

**All Stats +5**

**Maximum Mana +500**

**Maximum Health +500**

**Gained title: “He Who Follows Mana”**

**Your sensitivity to mana has increased.**

**Mana Reader has leveled up.**

Harry’s head spun with all of the system messages. Discovering a source of mana! What an unorthodox find so early on in his journey! To be placed near such a beginner area, and to never have been found before… a fortunate coincidence?

Or maybe an astounding degree of luck!

The source of mana was a large, clear crystal floating above a pond. The pond water itself was completely clear—Harry could see the clean stone of the bottom—and behind it was a miniature waterfall that explained the water’s presence. Around the stone, the Tree of Ages’ roots formed some sort of cage. Harry could see the direct mana flow back and forth between the Tree and the crystal—no wonder it became a Tree of Ages if it was directly linked to a source!

“Mana Read!”

**Primordial Mana Crystal**

**A mana crystal formed in the depths of the earth. It is unknown exactly how it is formed, however due to the size, it is possible to conclude that it has grown undisturbed for centuries. Because of this, it has a connection to the earth and is able to generate mana continuously.**

**It is the ultimate mana regeneration crystal.**

**With Advanced Level Mining, it is possible to harvest the Primordial Mana Crystal. With Advanced Level Crafting, it is possible to create accessories and equipment of the highest grade. A master class Shaman with Advanced Level Imbue can successfully imbue a piece of Primordial Mana Crystal into equipment. With Advanced Level Sculpting, it is possible to sculpt despite its high hardness level.**

What were the game developers _thinking_ when they put such a high level item in a beginner area? It was an end-game level encounter! Harry was more confused than anything—what were the chances he would encounter something like this? Why was it in such an easily reachable area? All one had to do was explore the forest!

The tree hollow wasn’t difficult to find either! The tunnel was straightforward. The only issue would be the darkness, and it didn't last too long—soon enough, the player would see light. Honestly, what was an end-game level object doing _here_? And it was only guarded by the Wolf Pack, something a higher level player could probably handle easily! Harry didn't understand at all, and it made him a little suspicious. Why—

**You feel an ominous chill.**

Harry shivered. He spun around to look the way he came, but there was nothing there. He looked around the room, trying to spot what evil presence he felt, but nothing was there that he could see. And just when his eyes turned to look back at the crystal, he saw it.

It was a sword, stuck in the roots.

In transparent white text above it, it read rather anticlimactically, “Old Rusty Sword.”

But Harry was _sure_ that was the source of the ominous chill. His Sight scanned the flow, trying to see any abnormalities, but the light from the crystal and roots were too bright—they dominated his vision, and he couldn’t adjust his focus to view only the sword’s mana.

Harry squinted. “M-Mana Read…”

**Old Rusty Sword**

**_Because of the mana radiation coming from the surroundings, you are unable to get a clear view. It appears to be a rusty sword that was lost here a very long time ago. You feel something ominous about it…_ **

**Durability: 1/50**

**Requirements: None**

**Attack +1**

Harry frowned. Really no information at all… Maybe if he got closer…? It couldn't be a normal sword—not if it was stuck _right next to_ such a high level item. Could someone have left it here, forgotten or unwanted, and it rusted over time? Maybe it was possible to repair it. Advanced level blacksmithing was as formidable skill, he heard.

Or maybe it was a quest item! Maybe whatever aura coming off of it had incited the wolves! Maybe an effect of the ominous presence meant a higher spawn rate for monsters! There were many possibilities this game could choose to use. Harry was learning this—always keep an open mind.

The only thing he could do was try to approach and find out through Mana Reader what it was!

Ah, but first, he should check his skills and stats. There was that strange title he’d gained...

**Name: Scarred ~ Level: 15 ~ Race: Human**

**Faction: Gryffindor ~ Class: None**

**Title: He Who Follows Mana ~ Fame: 155**

**Health: 1000 (+500) ~ Mana: 605 (+600)**

**Strength: 60 (+20) ~ Stamina: 31 (+10)**

**Intellect: 30 ~ Wisdom: 31 (+10)**

**Luck: 20 ~ Agility: 34 (+1)**

**Stealth: 9**

**Attack: 0 (+3) ~ Defense: 0 (+4)**

**Fullness: 45 ~ Fatigue: 30**

Oh. Fullness was at 45. No wonder he was feeling a tad hungry. He’d have to eat soon, but Harry was determined to do this first. But back to that title—

Harry tapped the “Title” word on the screen. Instantly a small description and a drop down box appeared, though the latter did not have any other options other than “None” and “He Who Follows Mana”.

**Title: He Who Follows Mana**

**[Basic Tier]**

**A title gained by a player who has followed the traces and call of mana all the way to its source.**

**Mana Recovery +10MP/10sec**

**Maximum Mana +100**

**Wisdom +10**

Harry checked back with his stats. The title stats seemed to be listed like a buff—he could see the increase to his mana and wisdom inside the parentheses.

Now that he thought about it, his stats were far above what a level 15 would have—mostly because of the buff, but his base stats were high too because of the extra he’d been gaining by finding things or observing them. 1000 base HP at level 15? Definitely not normal! But looking at everything now—Harry huffed.

For a warrior who usually raised his intelligence and wisdom a grand total of zero, Harry had an abundance of these stats! He even had some LUK! It looked like he was an all-round type character, which was never very efficient in any of the games he'd played before. It was better to be very focused with your stat points in most MMORPGs, as that would allow you to kill things faster than they could kill _you_.

And because it raised the rate of hunting, focusing on damage also increased the rate of EXP gain! Unless you were a tank, it was always more profitable to focus on the stats that gave you damage. But looking at his stats now, the extra stats he had wouldn't give him any damage unless he became a Mage class! A true shame.

Harry wasn't complaining about having extra stats, he was thinking it was a waste to become a warrior if his skills and extra stat point gain focused on INT and WIS! Mana regeneration was useful for both types—long and melee range—but it was ultimately the long range that profited more. Melee range usually needed health regeneration more than mana regeneration.

Focused characters always won out, in the end. Parties were easier because they could do their job extremely well as a specialized character, believing the other players could fill in their holes. Harry didn't know if he would find an agreeable party in the future, but who knew! Berserkers were usually solo players, but what if he needed to team up with others in the future?

To maximize his character’s ability, wouldn't it be best if he became a Mage class? Their play style wasn't much to his liking, but they were powerful characters nonetheless…

…No. He would continue on the path he was walking now. If that led him to a hidden Mage class, so be it—honestly it looked like that now. But if he was able to become a Berserker—there was nothing that would make him give up that class! For someone like him who had periodic moments of restlessness between his moments of dull peace, Harry knew the Berserker class was a perfect fit for him. He was loathe to give it up for any one thing.

Besides, intelligence and wisdom gave other advantages besides stat-wise. Upgrading success rate, as long as it was through the NPC upgrade shop and not a blacksmithing forge, was influenced by INT—if he gained enough extra stats, he wouldn't have to hire a Mage class to upgrade his equipment for him, and if he ever got a pet, his pet’s AI and experience gain would be boosted in respect to his intelligence.

Wisdom, as far as he knew right now, raised the chance of success of learning a skill through a skill book.

It was all very mentally straining planning that went into a character. Harry sighed. If he took one of the basic main classes when he was level 15, then he wouldn't have to worry as much. But he was classless, and had no idea when he’d get his class—he needed to plan to raise his stats appropriately.

But this was neither the time nor place for that. Harry looked back at the sword. Maybe if he got closer to it, he’d be able to read the mana properly? If he tried at this distance, it appeared to be the same as a low level Observe—it was seeing the mana that made the difference for his skill. Just a little closer…

Harry approached with due caution. One would assume he would have been attracted to the Primordial Mana Crystal, but instead it was the sword he was interested in! A warrior indeed! Or perhaps it was because with every step forward, Harry became more and more aware of something… _wrong_ in the air. But as they say, Gryffindors were notorious for their bravery—and Harry continued.

One step. Two steps. Finally, a distance of a meter away! Harry squinted, but it was still not close enough to override the brightness of the crystal and the roots. He got even closer, and finally at a half meter distance—

A growl sounded behind him. Harry spun around.

Lo and behold, it was the Alpha Male! No longer lying down, Harry could clearly see its size—huge, as if it were a werewolf instead it stood on two hind legs, barring its sharp white teeth in a clear sign of threat. But why? It hadn't reacted earlier, so what—

_The crystal._

Harry looked at the Alpha Male’s name, bleeding the shade of deepest red possible.

It growled again, pulling back its arm in preparation for a large swipe. Harry knew there was no getting out of this now—there was not enough space to dodge forever, and the boss monster’s form practically blocked the entire entrance. Even still, his eyes strained to read its mana. If he was going to die, he was going to die after he learned something useful!

That was Harry’s mindset as he played a _game_.

Mana swirled about its legs and pulled arm, like a rapid tornado of wind about to be unleashed. _That_ was going to hurt. Harry lunged to the side in a fit of desperation as the claw slashed air where his torso had just been. His body scraped against the hard stone ground as he scrambled to get back on his feet, but again all the Alpha Male did was prepare for another attack.

**You are paralyzed by fear.**

Violent! Powerful! _Superior_! This was the feeling Harry got from watching the Alpha Male’s mana. It permeated the air, weighing it down like a block of iron! An oppressive fighting aura! Filled with an aged experience, a durability that could not be broken! Harry found he could not move, even as the boss monster raised its paw once more and extended its claws.

…Even for a boss monster, Harry didn’t think this was normal. No, it was the exact opposite—because the reason why the game’s programmers felt safe in putting an end-game item in a beginner area, the reason why he could _be here_ now, the reason why they didn’t think twice of whether or not it would lead to a ridiculous game breaking character if they put such valuable resources in one place—

“ _Mana Reader_ —”

**[Boss] Alpha Male**

**Level 999**

**The guardian of a Primordial Mana Crystal.**

Harry disappeared in a flash of white light.

* * *

Harry woke up sweaty and out of breath. It took a few moments to regain full control of his hands in order to open the latch keeping the game visor on his head, but he managed, and when it was finally off he tossed it lightly onto the cushions of his couch.

The house was dark. His throat was parched. He wondered what time it was.

Harry shuddered. His body trembled, cold and sticky as if he’d just ran a few miles without pause. Suddenly the air of his apartment was too cool for his liking, and he wanted to get up to turn on the heater but when he stood, his legs felt uneasy and his head spun. It forced him back onto the couch to rest for another moment.

Dying felt terrible. There was no mistake that the pain was dulled—it had felt more like falling on the ground than getting ripped to shreds—but it wasn't the pain that got him. It was fear—a familiar friend he hadn't spoke to or even seen in awhile. Certainly the game didn't want to traumatize any of its players, so there were measures in place to dull the realism, but for Harry it was just a bit of helplessness that made it… _an experience_ for him.

It had been a long time since he had been helpless.

Before, he had once promised himself that he'd take all measures to never feel such a thing again.

Now, sitting here, he realized that promise was really just a child’s desperation bleeding through. He wasn't strong enough to make such promises—not yet. Being helpless drove him, fearing _fear itself_ was a reluctant admittance of his. Fear made you wild. Being wild made you rash and impulsive. Being rash and impulsive made you unable to defend yourself.

Harry believed this.

He stood up.

His legs were still shaky, but he could walk. That was what mattered. In the kitchen, the constant ticking of the wall clock made a steady beat to synchronize his breathing with, which helped. Eventually his heartbeat also calmed. He wondered what time it was.

Ah, he had work tomorrow.

Harry decided a quick shower, and then bed. Sleep sounded like the gift of the _gods_ right now.

…He wouldn't swear he would never die again—in all likelihood, that was a promise he knew he couldn't keep. Instead, he swore to never let death affect him like this ever again. It was an ugly feeling—and being weak, helpless, and shaken all at once was probably the most distasteful combination Harry could think of for himself.

_Not again._

Through _Witches and Wizards,_ maybe it was possible to conquer his fear of fear itself.

* * *

Harry worked at a bookstore along a fairly high traffic street. Due to the store’s large inventory, the amount of customers there were in a day was a relatively high amount, all things considered. _Florish and Blotts_ also sold other things, like a very good cup of tea—or coffee, should the customer genuinely prefer—and that part of the store was particularly high traffic as well. Of course, to keep up with technology they offered eBooks, and every now and then there would be a book signing.

The job was, of course, rather low pay, but it was comfortable and his coworkers (and employers) were nice people. Harry had his fair share of investments going on to compensate the rest he needed, his starting budget having come from the inheritance he’d received on his seventeenth birthday. And he _was_ single and young—he didn't need much to live off of.

Harry had gone to school—done his years of high school, done his years of college—and ended up with a bachelor’s in Web Design. While hunting for a job in his field he’d ended up at the book store, found he preferred it to his major, took a more active interest in playing the stock market, and had simply never left.

He didn't have any plans to marry, or to really date. While some mild interest was there, he'd never worked up the effort to sort through the problems it would bring. After high school and his first year of college—which had some various failures in the relationship department—he'd just never tried again. It was a bit troublesome—and Harry both loved and loathed the peace he had now.

No one should have to deal with his problems. It was his own business—and having a significant other would mean that his business was, in effect, theirs as well.

A customer walked in just as Harry finished labeling the pick-up-at-store orders. Harry recognized him as a man who came by rather often, every once in a blue moon stopping for some tea but more likely to buy a single book. He’d bought a few books on anatomy before, and Harry had first assumed he was a type of doctor with his austere dress and aloof manner, but he wasn't all too sure.

His last two or three visits, the man had bought books on life after death, or near death experiences, or something in that range. Harry didn't think the man was religious, _or_ seeking reassurance with the death (or soon coming passing) of a relative or friend, so it must have been purely from his own interest that he'd sought the books out.

To be honest, Harry was somewhat stirred by the subject as well. But not as much as the customer seemed.

 _Life After Life,_ the title read. Harry mentally shrugged as he rang up his customer. He kept a mental list of his regular customers—those that preferred to speak, those that didn't. This one in particular didn't much like talking at all, so Harry left him to his silence.

“I also have a book to pick up,” the customer noted.

Harry looked up from the cash register. “Which book is that?”

“ _Thus Spoke Zarasthustra,_ Nietzsche. German text.”

Undisturbed by the cold manner he was answered by, Harry turned around and looked through the small shelf for the correct order. Surprisingly, there were two. _Odd._ He didn't think that book was trending at the moment. Harry checked the author. Both the German text. _Even stranger._

“Name?”

“Riddle.”

 _Ah._ “This one, then. Here you are.”

The man nodded, paid for his purchases, and left.

Harry thought it was rather odd—did he really have to order that book? And usually he didn't buy more than one per visit… Well, he wasn't one to judge. He was just curious.

At least, now he had a name to a face. _Riddle_ , Harry mused. _One name, but better than nothing. If he orders again I won't have to ask. Then again… even stranger._

_He didn't put his first name on the order._

* * *

**Name: Scarred ~ Level: 15 ~ Race: Human**

**Faction: Gryffindor ~ Class: None**

**Title: He Who Follows Mana ~ Fame: 155**

**Health: 1000 (+500) ~ Mana: 605 (+600)**

**Strength: 60 (+20) ~ Stamina: 31 (+10)**

**Intellect: 30 ~ Wisdom: 31 (+10)**

**Luck: 20 ~ Agility: 34 (+1)**

**Stealth: 9**

**Attack: 0 (+3) ~ Defense: 0 (+4)**

**Fullness: 57 ~ Fatigue: 15**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to finish Harry's job advancement this chapter, but then I remembered that he had to die and dying means you can't log in for 24 hours.... SO.... >_
> 
> Interestingly enough, many games boast different punishments for death! In most MMORPGs that we have today, you lose a percentage of your experience (anywhere between 5-20%, I think). Other games have you lose some of the things in your inventory, or even just some of your gold/money. In VRMMORPGs (aka light novels/manga/manhwa/manhua), the penalty ranges from loss of items, to loss of level, to loss of SKILL levels, to being unable to play for 24 hours after death...
> 
> There are a lot of variations.
> 
> For me, I'm going to use the force log out + loss of a character level. This will be explicitly stated in the next chapter, but I'm mentioning it here just in case you have questions about it. I'd also like to remind you that time flows faster in-game than IRL, so 24 hours IRL = 24 x 4 = 96 hours in-game. A lot of things could happen in 4 days!
> 
> ...So yeah now you know Tom lives close enough to Harry to visit. Hahahahaha


	5. Entry V: On the Path to Greatness

Twenty-four hours later (approximately; he’d died at a very late time during the night), Harry logged back into _Witches and Wizards_ , feeling determined now to get back to his quest. He appeared at the rebirth point of Little Hippogriff, which was a raised platform underneath a large, Greco-Roman styled awning held up by intricately carved pillars.

The rebirth point seemed out of place in such a simple beginner town, but Harry supposed that was for a reason—it was highly noticeable, which meant easy to find; he figured most rebirth points might look something like it.

Quickly—as he didn't want to trip anyone who spawned next—Harry stepped down from the pedestal and left the platform via descending the marble stairs a few meters in front of him. There were some players milling about, loitering as they talked amongst their own small groups. He could see NPCs also wandering, doing their jobs as they were wont to do at this time of day. Harry was about to relax in the easy atmosphere before he remembered he had a quest to report.

Now reminded, Harry rushed over to the old man at the fountain.

“Ah! So you've come back,” the old man exclaimed. “What news do you bring, young friend?”

The player smiled slightly at the affectionate name he was greeted with before reporting. “There’s a large tree in the forest. I found a wolf pack living beneath it.”

“Oh? So they’ve moved there, huh… Anything else?”

Harry found he could not ask what the NPC meant, required to finish his report first. “There was a large crystal inside the den, and a sword stuck next to it. When I tried to get closer, the Alpha Male stopped me.”

“A large crystal, you say? And a _sword_? Oh dear…”

“Sir?” Harry asked.

The old man looked grim. “You’ve done very well—a great service for this village! Here, take this…”

**Investigate the Forest Quest completed!**

Harry accepted the reward, but was more eager to listen to what the old man had to say next. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Yes—yes. You see, we’ve had a wolf pack in the area since the founding of Little Hippogriff. However, they only took what they needed, and it served us well too because they controlled the population of rabbits that tended to get into our gardens and crops. As you can see, we can't farm all too much here—and having the plots that we _did_ have eaten away… Well, we were alright with living beside the wolf pack.

“But suddenly, the wolf population grew bigger, and then they started to take more and more… Our animals were attacked and devoured. No one could understand why. But now, I think, you've solved the mystery.”

“…I have?”

“Yes. You saw the wolf pack, didn't you? Who were the members of it?”

Harry frowned in thought. “Well… There were a lot of them. Pups, juveniles, adolescents, guards… And a Beta pair and Alpha pair.”

“ _Pair_? You’re sure that there were _two_ alphas?”

Harry nodded. “A male and a female.”

The old man sighed. “Yes, then it is as I assumed. You see, many years before the wolf population boom, a hero originally from our village returned. His name was Sir Nicholas, and he said he was searching for a mana crystal located in the area. Well, he found the large tree that you did, and he entered, swearing that he would bring back a large chunk of the crystal. We found him days later, dragging himself back to the village, his body severely wounded by what seemed to be _claw marks_.

“We treated him, of course. And he told us what happened. A large wolf had attacked him when he neared the stone. While he managed to fight it for a few moments, it was _inordinately strong_. It managed to bat away his sword, soundly disarming him, before managing to wound him as we saw him then. He managed to escape, and had no intentions of returning there to try again.

“He told us, ‘ _’t is being guarded for a reason. I’ll not play with fire if such is what the gods guard jealously as their own.’_ And he left. The sword, as you saw, remains. Unfortunately, Sir Nicholas’ sword was one cursed with incredible power—no ordinary man could wield it. I assume that one of the wolves became corrupted by it, gained power, and ascended to the Alpha Female position. As you know, in wolf packs, only the alpha male is allowed to reproduce—”

“And now that there’s a powerful wolf who _happens_ to be a female—”

The old man nodded. “Indeed. Young, dear friend of our village, I hate to trouble you with such a dangerous request, but…”

**Stop the Wolf Population Boom Quest**

**_According to the old man, Sir Nicholas’ sword is the cause of the increase in wolves by elevating one of the females to Alpha Female. As a friend of Little Hippogriff, please vanquish the Alpha Female and remove the sword from the Primordial Mana Crystal!_ **

**Difficulty: D**

0 **/1 Alpha Female**

***Recommended to complete with a party**

***Wolf Hunt -- > Investigate the Forest -->Stop the…Boom **

“Of course I’ll help,” Harry said, accepting the quest. There was a part of him that was still a bit angry over being defeated! However, a thought of caution came to him. “You don't want me to get rid of the Alpha Male too…?”

The old man chuckled. “You may be strong, friend, but Sir Nicholas was stronger. No, I don't think you could, or that it's necessary. He’s there for a reason. The only unnatural presence there is that of the Alpha Female. I do not think he would stop you either.”

“But the sword?”

“I'm sure he’ll sense your intentions.”

Harry wasn't so sure about that. He’d just wanted to observe the sword and the Alpha Male still attacked him! But he didn't tell the old man this. Harry left, direction toward the Tree of Ages again. Indeed, he would try to avoid confronting the Guardian—his first priority would be the Alpha Female!

* * *

One thing Harry quickly discovered was how difficult it was to dodge in the cavern.

When he arrived back at the Tree of Ages and entered the hollow, all the wolves—save the Alpha—were gone, probably in different rooms. The Alpha Female had attacked him on-sight, which had led to some sort of dodge and _pray_. He’d gotten bit by her fangs _once_ , and the amount of health she’d lopped off… Not something he wanted to repeat.

Harry threw himself to the side again. The wide, open clearing (with hardly any rocks to hide behind) allowed the Alpha Female, with her superior speed, to catch him much easier. Harry was depending on last minute dodging to escape the swipe of her claws and the snap of her teeth! It was not the best method, but it was all he had… Mana Reader _did_ significantly ease the task, though.

The monster’s eyes were wide and furious. Crazed. She was a demon, come alive barring her fangs with an unnatural arch in her back. He had not seen it when she was far away at the corner of the room, but now it was clear. _Cursed_! This was the look of a cursed monster—one affected by negative energies like the old sword. Harry did not know how he would defeat her—it was no wonder a party was recommended!

 _Run_. Harry threw himself to the side, letting the Alpha Female crash into the wall behind him. However, not even that deterred her. She regained her balance and went after him again.

 _Think_. What were the vulnerable spots of a wolf? The eyes. The neck. The legs? The belly… He wouldn't be able to defeat her by blindly lashing out with his weapon. Where could he strike…?

Harry made a split second decision. He spun around, waited for her to charge at just the right moment, and when she was so close he could reach out and _touch her_ , Harry dodged to the side and clambered onto her back.

It was a rough ride. The boss monster clearly didn't appreciate her prey being where she could not bite him, and so bucked and growled and tried to fling him off. Harry hung on for dear life, hands in her fur and around her neck. When he finally pulled himself to a more stable position—not that anywhere was truly _stable_ —Harry pulled out his knife from its spot in his leather belt, put there previously when he concocted the plan, and struck out at her neck.

One, two, three slashes he got off before she flung him off. Harry hit the hard ground with a grunt, his knife bloodied but overall the attack had been effective. All of his attacks had been critical hits. The Alpha Female, from his recent and past attacks, was at approximately half health.

She charged at him again, even more enraged. Harry got to his feet and began the cat and mouse cycle once more.

For some reason, blood pumping and heart racing, Harry found himself calm. Oh, he was nervous—this was his first boss battle, after all—and he was clumsy—the furthest thing away from a stone-cold warrior—but he was calm. The nudge of fear he felt toward the Alpha Female wasn’t even a fraction of the fear he felt confronted with the Alpha Male! Remembering how he felt then, cornered and at the mercy of those sharp claws, the spiraling tornado of mana about the muscled arm… compared to that, the Alpha Female’s cursed aura was nothing!

That was what kept Harry going. The Alpha Female was double his level—a staggering level thirty to his fifteen—but Harry persevered. Her defense was not high. It was only her speed and attack—boosted by the curse of the sword—that made her so dangerous.

Could he do it? Could he solo his first boss, twice his level?

Harry’s eyes sharpened. He _would_.

Around and around the cavern he went, sticking to routes he knew she could not cut him off from. Every so often he managed to lunge forward, striking at her vulnerable spots. Harry was not able to leap upon her back again, but he managed to slice at her hind legs and even her underbelly. Whenever he could, he grabbed loose, small rocks in his hand during a roll or a dodge—moments where he forced himself lower to the ground—and then flung them at her, aiming for the eyes in hope of a moment of distraction. It did negligent damage, but sometimes he did succeed in getting debris in her eyes.

Finally, after many exhausting rounds, Harry got the Alpha Female’s health down to a quarter! He swerved, weaving between an area of stalagmites, and just managed to cross the room again before a small, misshapen wolf limped out of one of the connecting tunnels. Harry yelped in surprise, skidding to avoid crashing into the poor beast.

 _Omega Wolf_ , it said, floating above a bent head and curled form. One of its hind legs was distorted. It was a cripple.

The growl behind him told Harry that the Alpha Female was almost done making it through the stalagmites. Just in case, the player turned his head to check over his shoulder, only to see the angry boss charging right at him again. But at the speed she was going at—

Harry turned back to the wolf.

 _Too fast_ , he realized. Without another thought, Harry grabbed the Omega Wolf and threw them both to the side. However, he misjudged the Alpha Female’s recovery time. Clearly she had learned from the previous times Harry had pulled the trick—the boss swung her weight, turning in her stride, and caught up with him before he could regain his balance.

Harry slashed out with his knife in vain. The Alpha Female’s jaws came down on his arm, knife and all—taking out a good chunk of his health. The pain— _oh dear god the_ pain _—_ he screamed.

_At this rate, she’ll take my arm off!_

It was then that he locked his own green eyes with the Alpha Female’s crazed red. _Cursed eyes_. Something in them made Harry angry. Was he truly going to lose— _die_ —to an opponent gone mad? Defeated by someone _borrowing_ power—how _pathetic_! Was _that_ how he was going to go? A mere two hours after he’d logged on again?

_Hell no!_

With his other hand, Harry grabbed one of the loose rubble that their fight had caused. It was jagged all around, sharpened points digging into the palm of his hand. _Good_. He struck then; stabbing the boss’ eyes with the stone, which caused her to cry out in pain. The lapse in focus made her jaws slacken on his arm just enough so Harry could move it and, with one swift stroke, stabbed the knife up through her mouth right through the brain.

There was a flash of light.

…Had he died?

…No, the ache in his arm told differently. Harry hissed as he dropped his knife, hearing it clatter on the floor but ignoring it in favor of gripping the spot that sharpened teeth had previously been imbedded in.

**You have defeated boss monster Alpha Female. Fame +1**

**You have leveled up.**

**You have leveled up.**

**You have leveled up.**

**Items have been sent to inventory.**

He waited a bit longer, but no “quest completed” appeared. It took a few more seconds before he remembered the cursed sword he had to get.

Harry cursed. Out of curiosity, he checked his health.

100/1500 HP!

An almost death. He was lucky, he supposed. Really lucky. If any one of her attacks had landed a critical hit on him…

Harry shuddered, and then instantly groaned in pain as he tried to shift his body. Being so near-death was no joke! Harry was at approximately 7% health! And it was slowly decreasing! The bite wound was deep—as the blood continued to run down his arm, his health points dropped.

He needed to stop the bleeding. But how? His clothes were too thick to rip—perhaps he could cut it with his knife? But after such a battle, the durability on it was extremely low. It would probably break before he could finish.

It was a shame that he’d just visited the store before! He’d gone to dispose of the previous loot he’d gotten before he’d died, a quick stop since he just wanted to decrease the weight of his inventory. However, because of that stop, Harry no longer had any of his wolf pelts—he couldn’t even use those as a makeshift bandage! An unfortunate turn compared to his previously praised luck.

At his side, the Omega Wolf that Harry had saved cautiously sniffed his uninjured arm. The player turned to look at it. Truly, the wolf was a pitiful thing—from his Mana Reader, he could see that its level was even lower than the wolves outside near the village. The lowest ranking member of the pack, an omega! Consistently bullied. Deformed. Even from the way it held itself, Harry could see the perpetual submission—either out of fear or habit. That was the life of the Omega Wolf.

Harry found he sympathized with it. He remembered when he, too was in the same position. Unable to defend himself. Driven by fear—but even fear had not been enough then. He had still been hurt. Still had suffered.

That was why, once he’d found out that he could have a _choice_ , he wanted to grow stronger. He wanted to learn how to protect himself—how to fight back. That was how Harry had turned up at the dojo! He’d met one of the masters by chance out on the street, and perhaps taking pity on him or seeing his potential, the master had essentially picked him up and lead him over. There, he’d found a home—for the first time in his life, he knew what a home _was_.

But for this Omega Wolf, the pack was his home. Harry could relate to the cage of family and blood as well. Being under the custody of his aunt and uncle… yes, Harry could relate to the Omega Wolf, who knew nowhere else to go. Here, though he had no hope of growing stronger or respected, no hope of magically repairing his deformity and becoming _more_ than what he was, the wolf would live until the end of its life.

In that way, Harry and the Omega Wolf were intrinsically different! Harry had the potential to escape, even before he knew what ‘escape’ meant. But the Omega Wolf did not—would never.

Sitting at a meager 50 health, Harry did not even attempt to stand up. Instead, he reached out with his hand and, very slowly, rested it upon the Omega Wolf’s head. At first, the monster had flinched, but then seeing as the hand did not move to strike out, it relaxed. Unbidden, a smile formed on Harry’s lips. He began to stroke the soft fur of the wolf.

Harry was not thinking about how the wolf was an NPC—a simple monster, programmed by someone behind a computer screen, made of numbers and coding. Harry wasn’t even thinking of himself as a ‘player’—a participant of a game that he could log out of at any time. No—here, he was just Harry, and the monster beside him was a kindred spirit.

It soothed his soul in a way; this sort of peace, not dreary and dull, but calm and therapeutic... _So there is this sort of feeling too._

It was funny. Harry had just been violently opposed to dying—so much so that he had defeated the boss in a completely unconventional way! But now, here he was, accepting it.

Beneath his hand, the Omega Wolf shifted. It moved—burdened, but still able—across the room, and Harry let his hand fall to the ground as he watched it curiously. Only then did he see the Alpha Male! The one he had completely forgotten! The Omega Wolf dropped into a submissive position in front of it. The Alpha Male grunted, low but not threateningly, and the Omega Wolf responded with some sort of whine.

Harry blinked. The Alpha Male approached him on two legs—superior to the Alpha Female, which had only been able to move on all four—and finally, when it was in front of him, made one smooth swipe with his claws and…

Picked him up.

Harry blinked. He was at 30 HP now, a measly 2%! It was too difficult to move any of his body parts, not that it would be a smart idea to in this situation, and so he could do no more but let himself be carried! Harry could not even turn his head—he closed his eyes and succumbed to whatever fate the boss monster felt would be fitting.

The Alpha Male set him down on the ground, right in front of the Primordial Mana Crystal that it had previously confronted him for nearing. The irony there was not lost to Harry, but he was confused by pretty much everything else. Was the boss monster trying to help him finish his quest or something? But if so, then he would’ve given him the sword, wouldn’t he?

He felt the monster nudge him with his claws. Thankfully, it did not harm him any further.

Closer to the source of mana…? No, that wasn’t it.

Harry squinted. “ _Mana Read_ ,” he muttered.

**Liquid Mana**

**By having been in the close presence of a Primordial Mana Crystal, the pond has absorbed the properties and become a pool of liquid mana. Such purity is extremely rare.**

**The effect of drinking such a liquid is unknown. Five random effects, negative or positive, will be bestowed—permanently or temporarily.**

Did the Alpha Male want him to drink it…? Harry couldn’t help but chuckle at this situation. Luck again, huh…?

He was nudged again. Harry struggled to get closer and finally dipped his hand into the pool. While it looked like water, it felt much thicker—almost like oil. He scooped a palm full of it and without further hesitation, brought it to his lips and drank.

The effect did not take place immediately. While his tongue could not taste anything, he felt the mana slide down his throat and revitalize him. It was like the first sip of water to a dehydrated, dying man! Harry could not help but close his eyes and savor the feeling.

**You feel revitalized.**

**Your wounds have been healed.**

**Your sensitivity to mana has increased.**

**You have absorbed the mana of the Liquid Mana!**

**For 1 day, Health Regeneration +50%**

**Maximum Mana +1000**

**Poison Resistance +30%**

**You have learned a new skill.**

**You have learned a new skill.**

One temporary buff, four permanent effects! And on top of that, no curses as far as Harry could tell! An astounding level of compatibility—no; one could even call it absurd considering the fact that the drink had given him _two_ skills! Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He carefully sat up, stretching his arms and hands but finding no ache or pain left. Just to make sure, he checked his health bar. A full 1500/1500. Success!

Harry turned to the boss monster that was still patiently watching him. And then he wondered if, perhaps, the ridiculous luck he had gotten with the Liquid Mana was truly _just_ luck. Above the creature’s head, the words “The guardian of a Primordial Mana Crystal” were displayed in stark white. In contrast, the level was in the deepest shade of red possible.

Harry wondered.

When he stood up, the Alpha Male left the room, as if giving him permission to do as he pleased. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Harry turned back to the mana crystal and sought the old rusty sword. He approached close enough to touch it and then called, “ _Mana Read_.”

The description had changed.

**Cursed Rusty Sword**

**_The sword of Sir Nicholas! Because it has been abandoned and unable to feed off of the fighting spirit of a human, the sword has weathered and rusted. Perhaps if it is restored it can return to its former glory; however, greatness comes with a price. As a cursed sword, those without the proper disposition can fall under its terrible influence…_ **

**_You can feel an ominous chill radiating from the blade._ **

**Durability: 1/50**

**Requirements: None**

**Attack: +1**

Harry shuddered. Would he truly be alright picking it up? That didn’t seem like the smartest idea, but his quest wanted him to remove it…

He frowned. He didn’t have anything to pick it up with, though. True, while he had gloves on as part of his newbie gear, that would protect his skin—but that didn’t necessarily mean he was protected from the curse either. What to do…

The player squinted at the sword. He was watching the flow of mana! Now that he was closer, he could somewhat identify it even in the presence of the dominating mana crystal!

He had nothing but his intuition to go on. Harry supposed that if he handled it like an item instead of a weapon, it should be okay. With that thought in mind, he reached out with cautious hands and pulled the sword away from the crystal. It quickly went into his inventory. After a moment he didn’t feel any different, so with that, Harry left the room.

**Stop the Wolf Population Boom Quest completed!**

He saw the Alpha Male waiting outside, as well as the Omega Wolf. The size difference was like a skyscraper to a house!

The crippled monster limped forward, and Harry knelt down to pet its head. The Alpha Male watched them both with an unreadable gaze, but it wasn’t aggressive. Again, a thought pushed its way to the forefront of the player’s mind.

_What if…_

What if his luck hadn’t _truly_ been all that much of his own luck?

Harry glanced at the boss monster once more. Then he looked down at the Omega Wolf. _An alpha always protects his pack…_

Could it be that the Alpha Male did not approve of the Alpha Female either? Harry assumed that the Alpha Male could not interfere unless it concerned the Primordial Mana Crystal it protected. If that was the case, the Alpha Female could not be ousted unless an external force, not of the pack, did it.

Harry focused on the Omega Wolf again. Even if it was a pitiful creature with no hope of a better future, that did not mean the wolf was useless. No, an omega served an important purpose in a pack! By being the weakest, a hierarchy was better established. Bullying was a release of stress for the other pack members. One could say that the omega of a pack tied everyone together.

A group was only as strong as its weakest link. Though the Omega Wolf was physically weak, that was not the only form strength takes! Harry understood better now. He and the Omega Wolf… they had similarities after all, but they were more different. While the Omega Wolf’s place was meant to be at the bottom of the pack, Harry’s was not. And that was not a degrading fact in the least—they both took different positions because their strengths lent them to different roles. To be a leader or a support type, certain inherent qualities were needed.

Yes, the Omega Wolf looked pitiful. However, Harry found he could not pity it anymore. Instead, he admired it. Supporting was difficult; some would say it was even more difficult than leading!

Harry smiled. “Thank you,” he said to the both of them.

The Omega Wolf licked his hand. Surprisingly, even the Alpha Male dipped its head! Acknowledgement from two monsters… what an odd situation Harry found himself in, and yet he felt more natural in this place than any other in the past three years!

_Witches and Wizards…_

A game of surprising amounts of mystery.

Harry departed from the Tree of Ages. It was time to go back to Little Hippogriff.

* * *

Before turning in his quest, there was still something of great importance to do.

Harry had to check his earnings! He had gotten three whole levels from soloing the Alpha Female, as well as some items he had yet to check over. To prevent theft or loss, boss monster item drops were immediately sent to the participants’ inventories. They were distributed according to kill participation. Harry, having been on his own, received all of the items.

He also received effects from drinking the Liquid Mana. Harry decided to deal with those first. He quickly opened up his stat window and distributed his skill points, as well as check on the stats he’d gained.

**Name: Scarred ~ Level: 18 ~ Race: Human**

**Faction: Gryffindor ~ Class: None**

**Title: He Who Follows Mana ~ Fame: 156**

**Health: 1000 ~ Mana: 1605 (+100)**

**Strength: 69 ~ Stamina: 34**

**Intellect: 30 ~ Wisdom: 31 (+10)**

**Luck: 20 ~ Agility: 37 (+1)**

**Stealth: 9**

**Attack: 0 (+1) ~ Defense: 0 (+4)**

**Fullness: 95 ~ Fatigue: 4**

**Poison Resistance +30%**

A mana pool expanded by 1000 points! While maximum mana also grew as he leveled, gaining it otherwise was rare and even coveted! For classes that depended on spells, a large mana pool was absolutely necessary to cast advanced magic. Granted they usually had a higher mana growth, and in the higher levels the most desirous thing was mana _regeneration_ , but it was still a very gracious reward.

Harry, as he did not intend to become a magician, would not increase his mana pool by much when he leveled. Thus, having 1000 more, especially at his early level, was a true blessing! It meant he could use his skills for a longer period of time before requiring either rest or an expensive potion. Not to mention, he could practice Mana Reader more extensively outside of the sphere of the Tree of Ages.

It was a very satisfying gift.

And then, poison resistance! A random effect indeed. This one was permanent. Early level monsters usually did not poison, but when they did start to he knew the status effect could be annoying. Having resistances of any sort certainly did not hurt.

Harry looked over everything else. The buff from the Tree of Ages was gone. The buff he was getting from his title, giving him an extra 100 MP and 10 wisdom, would be active for as long as he wore it. The agility buff was from his newbie shoes, the defense from his clothes, and the attack he had dropped because of the extremely low durability of his knife. He should probably get it replaced soon.

Since most players had a job advancement by now, they would’ve received a new weapon in accordance to their new class. As Harry had not done anything of the sort, he was stuck with the knife unless he bought a new weapon, or received a weapon drop.

Next, Harry checked his skills. He’d learned two from the Liquid Mana, and he was curious about what they were. They could be anything!

**Luck of the Draw Beginner Level 1 (0%): The hand of Fate guides the travelers who have turned to her in their time of desperation. The spiritual link can never be severed.**

**Passive: Increases chance of receiving and hitting critical hits depending on the level of the skill.**

**Active: Every time an event dependent on chance occurs, Luck of the Draw will be activated, generating a number between 0 and 100. Depending on the number, the chance of the outcome could be affected drastically.**

**Lady Fate’s favor is fickle and can be given just as soon as it can be taken away—her personal interest can be considered both a blessing and a curse.**

**[Self-activation is impossible.]**

Harry gulped. It sounded more inconvenient than useful. So this was the true definition of random—a gift only by the wrapping paper, and inside a dangerous pet snake! He was more cautious than ever about the second skill. What could it be?

…Did he even want to know?

Still, it was his now. Harry decided to check it, after much hesitation.

**Patronus Charm Beginner Level 1 (0%): Advanced level light magic that shields the user from curses, dark magic, and dark monsters.**

**Incomplete, manifests a shield requiring concentration to be maintained. Complete, summons a familiar to fight and protect the user against harm. Familiar’s power dependent on level of skill and user’s emotions.**

**Initial cast requires 1000 mana. Requires mana per second to be sustained.**

**[Activate: “Expecto Patronum”]**

An advanced level light magic spell! No matter how one looked at it, Harry had hit the jackpot. Simply receiving it balanced out the foreboding feeling he had gotten from seeing Luck of the Draw! As a berserker, there would be no possible way of him getting this spell. And even if he became a mage, he expected he’d only _hear_ of something like this past level 200! That was how ridiculous obtaining this skill was.

There really was no description of how fortunate he had been. Harry read the description again, closer this time, and recognized his luck. A mage’s spell depended on their INT and WIS, usually. How powerful it was, how effective it could be… those sort of things normally were measured by the skill’s level and the mage’s intelligence and wisdom. That was how it was. But this skill, the Patronus Charm, was measured by not only the skill level, but also _emotions_. Not stats!

Harry didn’t know what it meant per say, but it was _different_. This way, even if he had abysmal mage stats, the spell could still be relatively effective. A ridiculous turn of fate—from dying to prospering. Maybe it was as they say—one had to straggle the line of death to reap great rewards. While Harry wasn’t keen on repeating the act—he wasn’t going to depend on his _luck_ of all things! Not the stat either—he could properly respect and be thankful for the great gifts he had been given by the game’s system.

A thought came to him then. He was sure other players weren’t as lucky as he was. In that case… if he continued to develop in much this same strand, wouldn’t his character end up being some ridiculous cheat character?! An overpowered player who’s combination of skills was enough to ‘break the game’…

Harry immediately discarded the theory. Impossible. His fortune was usually incredibly bad—be it from fortune cookies or actual fortune tellers that pulled him to their booths along the street. There was no way Harry would suddenly become lucky.

But he was forgetting one important thing. Here, he wasn’t “Harry”—here, he was “Scarred”! He was not Harry Potter, burdened with the weight of his thoughts. That Harry, the human Harry, the _person_ Harry, could not possibly come into fortune’s favor without some sort of catalyst. However, _Scarred_ was another matter. Scarred was someone “new”. Born from the will of Harry Potter, the player Scarred _could be_ —

_Could be._

Harry went on to check his Mana Reader. It was currently level 6, at 32%. The percentages came slower this time. He’d have to continue using it a lot if he wanted to level it up. In that case, it probably wouldn’t be wise to use the Patronus Charm until he was a higher level.

For one thing, he doubted he would run into any dark creatures soon—or come face to face with a curse. Even if he just used it to level it up (and Harry was unsure if he could do such a thing, but it wouldn’t hurt to try later), the initial cost was a whopping 1000 mana! At full MP, that would leave him with 605, 705 with his title on, mana left to sustain it. At the moment, he could not use Mana Reader and the Patronus Charm at the same time without exhausting himself.

But that was natural. He was only level 18. The Patronus Charm was a spell players over level 250—no, that was only an estimated minimum; 300 was more likely—would learn! It was to be expected that he couldn’t use it well at his level.  The point was he had it, so he could use it _later_. Harry relaxed. Now that that was settled, it was time to turn in the quest.

* * *

“You’ve returned!” the old man cried when he saw Harry approach. “Thank Godric you have! The Church of Gryffindor has protected you, I’m sure!”

Harry nodded his head. “The Alpha Female is no more, and I got Sir Nicholas’ sword.”

“Marvelous! May I see it?”

The player nodded again. He was cautious taking it out of his inventory, and used both hands to give it to the NPC.

“Hmm… let’s see… Yes, I’m sure this is it. The curse on it is unmistakable. Even though I can’t see the inscription on it—the rust, and wear and tear from being down there so long no doubt—this has to be it. You said it was near the crystal?”

“Yes.”

“Hm. So my guess was right. Ah, but it’s such a huge relief that everything is over with! I don’t think the village of Little Hippogriff can thank you enough, dear friend! Please, take this token of our thanks.”

Harry received it gratefully. The old man was not done, however.

“You have saved our village. For your good deeds, I will have you recognized wherever you go—”

**You have leveled up.**

**Gained title: “Wolf Hunter”**

**As a savior and friend of Little Hippogriff, all shops in the village will give you a 30% discount.**

**All NPCs of Little Hippogriff now have high intimacy with you.**

**As the specialty of Little Hippogriff, intimacy with hippogriffs have risen. Skills involving hippogriffs will gain more experience in the village. Applying for a license to own a hippogriff will be easier with the support of the village. If you buy a hippogriff from Little Hippogriff, you will receive a 10% discount.**

“—And this. This as well. We have no means to dispose of it, you see. Please, take the sword along with you on your travels, and should you find fit at whichever establishment you find yourself at, please dispose of it. No one should ever fall under its influence again.”

Harry took back the cursed sword. “Will it be alright for me to carry it?”

“Yes,” the old man said, “It should be. Had it been in its unmarred state, I am sure it would’ve affected you terribly. However, it’s rusted now, and with little energy, the curse cannot do anything to you. Unless… unless you wield it, friend, then it should be unable to do you harm. I do not recommend doing such a thing, though. After so many years, it must be terribly bloodthirsty! I cannot imagine what sort of heinous crimes it would have you do should you take it up…”

“Thank you for the warning.”

“Of course. I wish you well in your travels, dear friend, and should you ever need a place of rest, Little Hippogriff will supply it!”

Harry dipped his head one more time and departed.

As the NPC had noticed, it was near time he should leave the little village. Before he left, though, he visited Sirius Black once more, and went to Hagrid’s to practice his Hippogriff Riding skill until it reached intermediate. Such a thing would normally take a long time, but Harry’s close intimacy with their caretaker boosted the amount of experience he got, and on top of that, his strong relationship with all of Little Hippogriff doubled it.

Because Harry rode Buckbeak—known as the strongest, most ornery stallion of the herd—easily, it was not hard to gain intermediate level.

**Hippogriff Riding is Beginner Level 10. Transformed into Hippogriff Riding Intermediate Level 1.**

**Bonus for reaching Intermediate Level: All Stats +10**

**Bonus for mastering Hippogriff Riding Beginner Level: Agility +10, Stamina +10, Fame +10**

**Hippogriff Riding Intermediate Level 1 (0%): You can now ride a hippogriff with great ease and comfort. Hippogriffs below your level will obey you without question, regardless of your intimacy with them.**

**You are able to summon a hippogriff to you for the purposes of travel or flight as long as you are outside. This hippogriff may be leveled up through care and exercise.**

**At advanced level Hippogriff Riding, your summoned hippogriff will be able to assist you in battles.**

**[Activate: No voice command; mount hippogriff. Sub-active: call hippogriff’s name]**

Now he could call for Buckbeak—or any other hippogriff he would befriend in the future—anywhere he went. As the description said “summon”, it implied Harry did not have to wait for the creature to fly to him. He tested it out before he left, and after finding his hypothesis true, left to the weapon shop.

* * *

Harry knew he needed a weapon, but none of them appealed to him. True, he didn’t have any affection for his knife either, but…

He wrinkled his nose at the prices. It was the same in most every game—a waste to buy early level weapons at the store because you’d quickly be replacing them. He _did_ have a 30% discount though, which was a sizable chunk, but that didn’t mean he should go crazy.

Harry bemoaned the fact that he didn’t get a weapon drop from any of the wolves he’d been killing!

 _Wait_. Harry blinked. He hadn’t checked the drops from the Alpha Female yet!

“Inventory,” he commanded, opening up an actual inventory window in front of him. If he needed something quickly he could draw it out by thought from his bag. This way, he could see everything laid out in nice, orderly squares.

Now, what was new…?

**Wolf Fang**

**_A tooth from a large wolf._ **

**_Can be used in crafting._ **

**…**

**Bronze Ring**

**_A basic bronze ring with no noteworthy aesthetical value._ **

**Durability: 20/20**

**Health +50**

**…**

**Leather Vest**

**_An average leather vest. Mediocre at best, it isn’t the sturdiest of equipments, and the protection it provides is marginal. Best to be layered with some other form of armor._ **

**Durability: 20/20**

**Defense +3**

Along with those drops, the Alpha Female had also given him two galleons—sizable for his level, considering that the normal wolves gave him knuts or a smattering of sickles. None of the drops were very worthwhile, but it was to be expected at this point in the game.

Finally, things were appearing normal.

Harry doned the Bronze Ring and put on the Leather Vest beneath his newbie clothes. He still wore the latter because of the cold environment.

It was then that he remembered that he had also gotten a new title.  Harry opened his stat window and clicked on “Title”. This time, in addition to the “None” option, there was also “Wolf Hunter”. He tapped on that one to bring up its description.

**Title: Wolf Hunter**

**[Basic tier]**

**A title gained by a player who has eliminated a large number of basic wolves and the boss _Alpha Female_.**

**Strength +5**

**Agility +5**

**Increased damage to wolves**

**Wolves below your level will become non-aggressive**

**Chain-type title: “Wolf Hunter” can be leveled to Advanced tier upon fulfillment of requirements**

It was not a bad title to wear. Harry looked back and forth between his current one, “He Who Follows Mana”, and “Wolf Hunter”. In the end, he chose the latter, as he did not need the +10 Wisdom or find the additional mana necessary with his expanded pool.

Now, his stats looked like the following:

**Name: Scarred ~ Level: 19 ~ Race: Human**

**Faction: Gryffindor ~ Class: None**

**Title: Wolf Hunter ~ Fame: 166**

**Health: 1000 (+50) ~ Mana: 1605**

**Strength: 82 (+5) ~ Stamina: 55**

**Intellect: 40 ~ Wisdom: 41**

**Luck: 30 ~ Agility: 58 (+6)**

**Stealth: 19**

**Attack: 0 (+1) ~ Defense: 0 (+7)**

**Fullness: 100 ~ Fatigue: 0**

**Poison Resistance +30%**

He had just eaten and rested earlier after raising Hippogriff Riding. With this, Harry was prepared to head out—except for one little thing. Again, his weapon! The Alpha Female had not dropped one for him. Harry supposed he could use his fists to fight for the most part, but that would lower the already low durability of his gloves.

However, now that he thought about it, the idea had merit. Fighting without a weapon—with his fists. Sort of like a martial artist. For a berserker, who could use any weapon, wouldn’t that naturally mean his fists as well? Musing on this, Harry did not bother finding a sword. Instead, he purchased a potion or two (for emergencies) with his meager funds and sizable discount, and then left to the field.

He had not touched the cursed sword after receiving it back from the old man. The NPC had implied he should go to the Church of Gryffindor to have it destroyed, as cursed items could be for a minor fee. Nothing with that idea sounded suspicious or wrong to Harry, so the suggestion was not disregarded in his mind; in fact, he didn’t even think about it as he went out into the plains and began to hunt wolves at dusk!

When he sat down for a breather, the existence of the cursed sword only popped into his mind again because he had been checking his inventory. He read the description again. It hadn’t changed.

Harry had no reason to think there was anything more to it. He did not yet have the instincts of one who has lived and breathed _Witches and Wizards_ yet. But in the end, he still pulled the rusty weapon out, if only to train his Mana Reader by observing it. Certainly a cursed item should have a strange mana flow. If he learned the patterns of it, maybe he could better identify what is cursed and what is not, even from a distance.

“Mana Reader,” he said, not expecting to have his vision immediately light up.

_What is this…?_

Mana swirled around the blade like a whirlpool. While it had spiraled similarly upon the Alpha Male’s attack, the two patterns were both intrinsically different. For one, the boss monster’s pattern had been like a _tornado_. Air. A twister. The mana around the blade was a restless vortex; a thin spiraling column of water, not moving as rapidly as an attack, but still swaying to-and-fro rather like an impatient pacing.

Harry had never seen such a thing before. Not that he had a wide berth of experiences to choose from, but—

He tried to focus on the blade itself. While it was rusted, Harry could still partially see his own reflection, as dim and scratched as it was. The mana flowing inside of the metal was murky, not like dense fog but thick _goo_. Vaguely, the image of a lava lamp came into his head. Of course, the big difference between this and that was context…

After a moment more of staring at it, Harry found himself lightly laughing. Cursed? The object wasn’t scary at all! In fact, it was almost like it had its own personality with how the mana moved. Finding his fears unfounded, Harry relaxed his caution and did what he probably would have never done before—he touched the blade.

His sight lit up like a 100 watt light bulb.

**A mysterious force affects your sight. Mana Reader is automatically activated. Cannot be deactivated until force dissipates. If MP falls to zero, Mana Reader will remain active and use any recovered mana.**

Harry cursed—without intention of a pun, naturally. He knew he’d probably done something he shouldn’t have.

“ **Hm!** ” someone coughed. The player looked around.

“ **Hm! HM!** ”

Harry blinked.

“ **Over HERE!** ”

 _Wha…_ “The sword?”

Instantly, the voice took up again. “ **’ _The sword._ ’ The _sword_ , he says! Just a bloody s _word_! You might as well call me _‘the knife,’_ or _‘the fruit peeler,’_ and it’d have the same meaning! Yes, boy, the bloody _sword_! Honestly, no respect these days! Why, in my glory years you wouldn’t even be fit to lick the stone I was sharpened on! THE LEGENDARY DEMON BLADE OF MODO! Debased to a mere _sword_! _What_ , I say, _what_ has the world come to?** ”

After getting over his surprise, Harry was less than impressed. “I don’t think you’re in the state to talk like _that_ now. After all, why couldn’t you have said anything before? Begs the question of whether you’ve got enough power to be really called the ‘Legendary _Demon Blade_ of Modo.’”

The sword went suspiciously silent at that.

“Well,” Harry began, sounding very put upon, “If you’re _really_ a demon blade… I mean, that sounds pretty evil. I guess I should turn you into the Church. Wasn’t really planning on it before, since I didn’t think you were _really_ cursed… but now the facts are all there, and—”

“ **Please don’t.** ”

“Pardon? I couldn’t quite hear that.”

The sword sighed. “ **I said… _please don’t_.** ”

“Please don’t _what_?”

“ **Turn me in! Oh those nasty priests will be _horrible_ to me! They’ll try to purify me—dip me in holy water and toss me into their divine inferno and what not—it’s a horrible, _torturous experience_! Kind, gracious, _heroic_ boy—err, man, I mean man!—I’ll reward you handsomely for your service if you refrain from alerting the Holy Order of my existence!** ”

“Really. I wasn’t aware demon blades had anything to give. Other than, you know, curses of misfortune and insanity.”

“ **No no no! I do! I can give you _power_! Sans insanity. I swear!** ”

“…Last I heard, demons tend to lie—”

“ **I’m not a demon though! I’m a… I’m a… weapon! We’ve got no choice once we’re made, you know. Truly nasty pieces of work, those _demons_. Enslaving us like this! I can’t help what I’m born as. Most of us demonic weapons are rather nice and sensible people. Have pity on the less fortunate!** ”

 “Hmm.”

“ **P-Please. I’m just a poor rusty sword trying to live in this harsh world.** ”

“Hmm.”

“ **I’ve lived for a very long time! You want riches, I’ll go tell you exactly where to find them! We can be friends, treasure hunters together! I’m powerful and stronger than any other sword you’ll find in a stall! And I bet no other sword can give you great advice like I can. Most swords can’t even talk!** ”

“Mmmm… how will I be sure that you won’t possess me?”

“ **Eh…** ”

“I heard around that your _last_ wielder was the only one who could use you. Drove anyone else _insane_.”

“ **Uh… _well_ …**”

“Even if you can control it, where’s my insurance that you won’t get mad at me someday and slip up? Sounds pretty fishy to me. And, you know, if that’s the case, I guess I have to—”

“ **Wait!** ”

“Yes?”

“ **There’s one way…** ”

“You’ll have to speak up. I can’t hear you if you mumble.”

The sword coughed. “ **Yes. Yes… well… There’s one way I can give you power. And it won’t drive you mad—I swear. I’m the Demon Blade of _Modo_ —murdering—not Mahu! Mahu’s a right bastard. Can’t trust him as far as you can throw him. I may be related to him—we’re brothers, actually—but we’re nothing alike. You can say he was the crap shoot of the family—**”

“As you were saying?”

“ **Ah—power. Yes. In exchange for not giving me up to the Church, I will give you the ultimate power… through contract. It will fuse me to your soul. My existence will merge with yours. Sadly, this does not mean all of my knowledge will be transferred to you—but you may get flashes of them if certain things jog your memory. The amount of this power I give you that you can wield is directly correlated to how much you can take. It will _amplify_ , not create.**”

“What’s the catch?”

“ **Well… you remember what we were saying about insanity?** ”

Harry immediately put his foot down. “I’m not going mad for power. Only an idiot would do that.”

“ **Wait! Hear me out, alright? You’ve got to give something if you want something, you know, and in this case… I _am_ of Modo. That part of my nature cannot be eliminated. In turn, if I fuse with you, you will _not_ be forced to follow the way of Modo—best deal I can give you there—but you _might_ , err, probably _will_ get urges to… what’s the best way to put this…** ”

“ _Murder?_ ” Harry hissed, shocked and offended.

“ **No no no! Well… Murder’s a _strong_ word… Let’s use something more pleasant. Like ‘kill.’ Yes. You’ll get urges to… kill things. Sometimes. You’ve got the potential in you; I believe you’ll eventually learn how to control it. How about it? Will you form a contract with me?** ”

Harry was about to say no. Honest to gods, he was about to firmly say ‘no.’ That was, of course, until a certain window popped up.

**Contract with the Legendary Demon Blade of Modo Quest**

**_The mana inside you has re-awakened the Legendary Demon Blade of Modo, and somehow you have convinced the weapon once known as the “Vampire King” to form a contract with you._ **

**_The contract states that, upon agreement to conceal the existence of its re-awakening, the Legendary Demon Blade of Modo will fuse with you and grant you the ‘ultimate power.’ While this will not force you to be under the affiliation of Foul Fiend Modo, you_ ** **will _undeniably be forced to walk a bloodstained path._**

**Difficulty: ???**

**Requirements: Earn the respect of “Vampire King” Legendary Demon Blade of Modo**

**Reward: Opportunity to job advance to a secret class**

**Will you accept the quest?**

What made him pause was the reward! The chance to unlock a secret class! While it didn’t specify which, Harry was curious. It would definitely be an offensive class—probably something that used a sword. But with those restraints, couldn’t it be possible then, that the reward was the chance to become a berserker?

Just for the chance of it… Harry licked his drying lips. _Maybe…_

“What do I have to do?” he finally asked.

“ **You’ll have to prove your compatibility with me. Fusing otherwise would be dangerous. Let’s see… it’s dusk now, is it? Here’ll be a fine test: from now until the sun rises again, fight. No matter if your bones ache, the life flashes before your eyes, or what have you—fight. Let the blood rush through your veins, the thrill of battle heat your hands and propel your body. Fight like a man possessed! With me in your hands, fight until the sun rises once more. Depending on how far you get, I’ll see how compatible our spirits are.** ”

Harry considered it.

But what other option would he give himself, other than ‘yes’? His goal was before his very eyes. Could he even _stand_ to abandon it? Wasn’t what he wanted to do was see where he himself as a person would go?

What other option was there then, other than ‘yes’?

“I accept.”

 **You have accepted Contract with the Legendary Demon Blade of Modo Quest**.

**Time left: 9:59:58**

From dawn to dusk was approximately ten hours. Harry would have to fight continuously for _ten hours_ —in real life, that would be approximately two and a half hours! And yet, Harry would take it.

He would see how far he could go.

It was time to fight, anyway. He’d use this opportunity to test his new levels and title. And because Mana Reader would be active no matter what, it would be another good opportunity to raise his skill level!

Harry stood, but then realized something important and, turning back to the sword in his hands, asked, “What if you break? You’re not exactly the most durable thing in the world right now…”

“ **Then I break,** ” it replied simply. “ **And even when I break, you must fight.** ”

With a broken sword? The thought was absurd! And yet, that sort of attitude… as foolish as it was, Harry admitted he could see some merit in it. Something worthy of respect. Something admirable. He gripped the frayed sword knot in his other hand before letting it go.

The quest wouldn’t wait, so neither would he.

* * *

Ten hours was a long time. With only 55 stamina, it was obvious that Harry could not last for the full duration if it—that would be _impossible_.

As Harry fought, he began to get messages such as:

**You are now exhausted.**

**Exhaustion effects agility and strength.**

Or:

**You are starved.**

**Starvation effects strength and stamina.**

It grew more and more difficult to fight. Especially because at night, the monster’s strength increased! While that also meant they gave more EXP, for Harry their added strength and his waning was the most unfortunate situation he could have at the moment.

Because he was fighting alone, it was even more difficult. His stamina was completely exhausted by the end of the second hour! Harry collapsed. Still, he could not let go of the sword in his hands—not only because it clung to his flesh, but also because his _will_ could not bear to let it go. The sensation of fighting without end, while exhausting, appealed to his stubborn nature. Harry didn’t want to give up!

He wanted to keep fighting. No—he _needed_ to keep fighting! Right now, fighting was _essential_ to his very being. He didn’t know how or why, but the desire to strike with his weapon and _keep_ striking was like an itch that could not be fully scratched. It irritated him, frustrated him, _challenged_ him. He wanted to test his skill, his ability, to the breaking point!

**You have created a new stat: Rage.**

Rage! A battle stat associated with berserkers! It was absurdly hard to create, requiring a player to push themselves to the limit and even _beyond_ that! No one wanted to do such a thing, but once done, the reward is immeasurable!

Rage was not an ordinary stat, like Strength or Intellect. It did not normally have a set value. Instead, when out of battle, Rage was usually zero! However, in the heat of battle, Rage would steadily increase. After reaching its maximum, Fatigue would return to 0 no matter what value it was at, and Fullness would increase back to 100. Strength and Attack would be boosted by 5%. A percentage of health would be recovered.

In other words, Rage could ‘recover’ a person from the brink of death!

While Harry was exhausted, he created this new stat out of his thirst for battle and willpower.

**Rage activated. Fatigue drastically decreases. Fullness re-fills. Strength and Attack increased by 5%.**

Like this, Harry was now able to continue fighting.

At the end of the third hour, the durability of the sword hit zero. The blade snapped. Left with only half of the blade, Harry did not stop and continued to hunt wolves. Normally this was impossible, as a weapon with zero durability was broken for good and could not be repaired. It even became an ordinary item instead of an equip-able weapon! However, the nature of the quest allowed Harry to continue to fight with it, as the sword could not leave his hands.

He did not only use what was given to him, either. Harry used his left fist just as frequently, as well as a strong kick whenever necessary.

With this, even his stats increased!

**From ceaseless battle, Attack has increased by 1.**

**…**

**By dodging a fatal attack, Agility and Luck have increased by 1.**

**…**

**From ceaseless running, Agility has increased by 1.**

**…**

**Because of your increased battle sense, Wisdom has increased by 1.**

**…**

**From ceaseless battle, Strength and Stamina have increased by 1.**

**…**

**You struck a critical hit through sheer force. Strength has increased by 1.**

**…**

**Because of enduring a fatal attack, Defense increased by 1.**

**…**

**Your punches have grown swifter and stronger. Attack increased by 1.**

**…**

Messages like these continued to pop up! For the most part, Harry ignored them. His focus was not on his stat gain—they were purely on battling! He forgot everything else. The world of the game grew increasingly life-like to him. While before his mental state was generally at ease, now he whole-heartedly threw himself into the thrill of fighting. One after another, two at a time, three, four—Harry lured them all to him, and defeated them all as they struck. “Wolf Hunter” title made them non-aggressive, but by striking them first, he was able to herd them and increase the difficulty.

“Rage” was activated numerous times. Harry did not keep count of the amount of times it saved his life.

Of course, he also gained a lot of experience, for both his levels and his skills. In this way, Harry successfully made it through the ten hours before collapsing.

**“Wolf Hunter” title has been upgraded to “Wolf Slayer”. Fame +5.**

**Title: Wolf Slayer**

**[Advanced Tier]**

**A title gained by a player who previously held the Wolf Hunter title and defeated in enormous numbers even more wolves.**

**Strength +10**

**Agility +10**

**Increased damage to wolves**

**Wolves below your level will become non-aggressive**

**20% chance for wolves to be paralyzed with fear in battle**

**Increased drop rate from wolf monsters**

**Chain-type title: “Wolf Slayer” can be leveled to Master tier upon fulfillment of requirements**

As he leveled up, the wolves gave progressively little experience, so at the end of the ten hours, the hunting was terribly inefficient. However, from becoming accustomed to the wolves’ movements and programmed abilities, Harry could kill them with one blow before even distributing his stat points!

 He grew to level 25. The amount of stats he gained purely from fighting were, in total, an increase of Strength by 8, an increase of Stamina by 5, an increase of Wisdom by 2, an increase of Agility by 4, an increase of Stealth by 2, an increase of Luck by 1, an increase of Defense by 2, and an increase of Attack by 3.

The Rage stat! After finishing his battle, Rage returned to 0 and all of its effects also faded. Harry was quick, or as fast as he could in his exhausted state, to pull out a piece of bread and nibble on it to at least stop himself from dying of hunger. Eating not only filled Fullness but decreased Fatigue.

Mana Reader had also leveled once. It was now level 8 at 63%.

**You have completed Contract with the Legendary Demon Blade of Modo Quest.**

Harry grinned. “You there?” he asked, turning his head to the broken blade in his hand. He was strewn out on the ground, clothes ripped up and torn like a beggar’s. The sun was rising.

The mana of the sword had slowed to a sluggish drag when it had broken. The whirlpool surrounding it had also disappeared. And while in the first three hours the sword had kept up a conversation—one-sided as it may’ve been—that also served as encouragement before Harry was able to fully sink into the throes of battle, the voice had silenced once the sword had broke. Harry had not heard it speak in the last seven hours.

“ **Made… it… have… you?** ” The voice was slow and tired.

Harry closed his eyes. “Yeah.”

“ **Well… done. You… have… some… blood…thirst… in… you… after… all. A… fine… suc…cessor… to my… legacy…** ”

“What do you mean? You’re leaving?”

“ **Leaving…? No… The con…tract… Ha… Always knew… it was… the… end… for me. I just… didn’t… want… to go… by… force. The Church… Master Modo…** ” the sword sighed. The next words it said were mumbled strings of nonsense.

“ **You’re… You will… be… great… I’m sure. Will you… form… this… contract… with me… and… inherit… my… will?** ”

Harry smiled despite himself. “I’ll form the contract, but I won’t inherit your will. You’ll have to try again if you want to trick _me_.”

The sword laughed, coughed, then sighed again. “ **Was… worth… a shot.** **Farewell, boy…** ”

Harry swallowed, his dry throat—and nothing _but_ that!—making it difficult.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. Take a nice long break for me, would you? Old men deserve to lay down and rest.”

“ **…Cheeky brat… got… some… charac…ter… in... you… after… all…** ”

What was left of the sword evaporated as droplets of water. Harry watched it fade away from his hand, disappearing into the atmosphere somewhere. No, into the aether, as all mana would…

A string of messages and windows immediately popped up in front of him.

**You have successfully put the Legendary Demon Blade of Modo’s mana to rest.**

**You have absorbed the mana of the Legendary Demon Blade of Modo!**

**Maximum Health +5000**

**Maximum Mana +5000**

**Strength +50**

**Stamina +50**

**Mana Recovery +100%**

**Because the mana of Legendary Demon Blade of Modo was compatible with yours, Fire Resistance +50%.**

**Your sensitivity to mana has increased.**

**Mana Reader has leveled up.**

At the sight of the absurd amount of buffs he’d been given,Harry made a sound at the back of his throat somewhat resembling a scoff, but instead had come out like a warbled sniff.  “…Who the hell needs a parting gift from a _fruit peeler_?”

_Stupid demon blade… Don’t you believe in me enough to let me make it on my own?_

_‘Good and sensible people…’ Ha. Ha…_

_…_

_…_

_…I guess you were._

_For a demonic, cursed, “_ evil” _weapon, you were a pretty nice guy._

**Fusion with Legendary Demon Blade of Modo complete.**

**You have gained a new item.**

**You have learned a new skill.**

**…**

**Job Advancement: Berserker**

**A player that is unmatched in bloodlust and continuous battle! Someone who will use _any means necessary_ to survive, and thrives in an environment that coerces unique adaptation! The life of a berserker… a path both stained and stainless.**

**You are now able to job advance to a Berserker. This is an independent, one time offer. Accepting will replace whichever class you have now. Accept?**

…

In that moment, Harry sealed his fate. The step to become the Legendary Berserker, the Weapon Thief, the Stainless Saint—yes, everything began here. In a series of steps no one would’ve ever guessed, so formed the beginning of a legacy.

The beginning of the end.

But what is ‘the end,’ but another beginning?

“I accept.”

* * *

**Name: Scarred ~ Level: 25 ~ Race: Human**

**Faction: Gryffindor ~ Class: Berserker**

**Title: Wolf Slayer ~ Fame: 171**

**Health: 7200 (+50) ~ Mana: 7205**

**Strength: 158 (+10) ~ Stamina: 116**

**Intellect: 40 ~ Wisdom: 43**

**Luck: 31 ~ Agility: 68 (+11)**

**Stealth: 21**

**Attack: 3 ~ Defense: 2 (+3)**

**Rage: 0**

**Fullness: 10 ~ Fatigue: 97**

**Poison Resistance +30%**

**Fire Resistance +50%**

**Current Skills: Hippogriff Riding (Inter. lv 1), Mana Reader (Beg. lv 9), Prowl (Beg. lv 2), Luck of the Draw (Beg. lv 1), Patronus Charm (Beg. lv 1), Unknown (???)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this is a really long chapter... Nearing 11k words? lol wtf???????
> 
> But yay! Harry's job advancement is done :> But that means goodbye Legendary Demon Blade of Modo (that's a mouthful)... tbh I really ended up liking him, even though his appearance was pretty short. He had some 'tude, y'know what I mean? And he brought out Harry's hidden 'tude really successfully (I've got a thing for sassy!Harry). But leaving him in the hands of Harry would've been toooo overpowered. Harry's really strong already!!!~~~ At this rate, how am I supposed to make Tom as strong as him?!?!!!! So yeah, Vampire King, bye. Sorry dude :( have a good rest!
> 
> If you didn't catch it, Modo and Mahu are devils/demons/fiends referenced in Shakespeare's King Lear (or if you're really looking at sources, Samuel Harsnett, but I got them from KL, so). They're "fake" in the sense that they're not exactly "from" a religion. Modo is the fiend of murder/killing, Mahu is the fiend of sinful behavior. They are both demons that Edgar, in his faked madness, say haunt him.
> 
> ...And Harry's supposed to become a bishop now? After making a contract with a demon blade? Darn it Harry, stop doing weird things! :c
> 
> Next chapter, once I recuperate from this beast, will be about Tom. I swear. c: Dunno how long Tom's job advancement will be, but ./shrug!


	6. Entry VI: Voldemort, Slytherin's newest member

Tom Riddle always had a… curious obsession with death.

It had started out mild. As a child, his interest had been inquisitive in nature. He’d seen death, and simply wondered—it had an effect on people, he noticed. He’d wondered if it was because the dead were gone, or if it was because the living didn’t know where the dead had gone _to_. A bit of both, he found. And then he’d wondered why death was so untouchable that people feared it without ever doing a thing.

Perhaps he would have ended up like the rest of the population—or even worse, with a rather unhealthy fear of death instead of interest in it—but instead of staying in the orphanage he was born in he’d been adopted at a fairly young age. And the adoption only served to further progress his curiosity with death, because his guardian didn’t seem scared of it at all, despite his age.

Albus Dumbledore had claimed death was simply “the next great adventure.”

And so Tom had wondered.

He’d been both disconnected as well as bound to worldly matters at the same time. The idea of death—and what was _beyond_ —called to him, but so too had the ever progressing problems of humans. He’d participated in their games and intrigue, their horridly fickle _emotions_ , their strange variety of entertainment, their confessions and their lies and—yes. He’d been part of it. He’d almost _drowned in it_.

But at the same time, Tom had been pushed away. Because those who possess a curiosity towards death were those same who people feared. He learned this without fault. No matter how truly you participate in worldly interests, no matter how _absolute_ and _possessing_ the affairs of life seemed to be, the touch of death would linger upon those who allowed it, and others would surely sense the oddity and keep you at arm’s length.

This was the manner Tom grew up in.

So it wasn’t unexpected in the _least_ when his profession turned out to be a funeral director. He’d dealt with people, perhaps disliked the majority he interacted with, but knew how to deal with them and how to act, how to feel genuine without handing over his heart, and always, _always_ made sure he knew just what to say. As long as they didn’t stick around longer than was considered professional, they wouldn’t notice his otherworldly confidence and would only see a kind, empathetic gentleman.

Because even if people didn’t _know_ , their minds did—they sensed something…different about him, if they stayed around long enough. Quite frankly that left a very, very _small_ handful of people who kept by him longer than absolutely necessary, and Tom supposed that meant, at the very least, he should consider them “friends.” Anyone who could stay _sane_ working in the business with all their wits about them— _generally_ speaking, of course; who minded just a _few_ screws loose?—was one thing, it was absolutely _another_ to deal with Tom.

Outside the professional realm, he…wasn’t the friendliest of people.

Not crass, not rude, no not _snippy_ either, just… cold. Standoffish. Tom gave a bit _less_ than people normally did, kept himself close and the distance between others wider. He could count the few who’d bypassed his carefully dug moat on one hand, and those still alive—well, less than that.

Really what _was it_ with old men and their irritatingly omniscient stares that _softened_ him so?

_Dear Tom,_

_To be honest with you, my boy, I’d never thought I’d live to see you grow up. I’m certain you thought the very same. How it came to pass that I_ did _, in fact, stay long enough in this world to watch you become an adult, get a career, and make something of yourself, I don’t know, but I must say I am awfully grateful for it._

_There is a keen difference between knowing something and seeing it for your own eyes, after all. And if I had a tad bit more greed in me I’d wish to see you grow older still, until we could sit and laugh like old men together…_

_Yes, I am aware it would take something more than an extended life to get_ that _wish, which is precisely why I shant wish for it._

 _All things aside, I do hope you wish me well in my next journey, for I will be joining Gellert now. And when I am with him, I will be sure to tell him just how you’ve grown, just how proud I am of you for becoming_ more _than that little boy I saw in the orphanage that day. And certainly, he will be inclined to agree with me, I do believe._

_He will say, softly so, that he misses you, that I will come to miss you as well, and that it is terribly unlikely that you will visit our graves any time soon, but so goes that stubborn self of yours—outside the realm of time, is it not?_

_…_

_I know you do not value entertainment as much more than a pleasant book to read with your favorite cup of tea, but it would comfort me much if, while I start my own new journey, you too take the steps towards yours. Take it as the words of an old, dying man if you must—just what I am, just what you hope to believe is_ all _I am; this one knows you well, does he not?—but is it truly too much to ask, that I who am no longer able to see you and take delight in your growth, at least give you the seed to grow further while I am no longer with you?_

_Perhaps it is much to ask indeed…but still I shall hope._

_With this letter I have given you means to retrieve my gift, of sorts. Thus it shall truly be your choice to receive, and you shant feel I’ve forced it upon you. The creator is an old friend of mine, and he knows how well I love you, how well both I and Gellert have and still love you, even to our last breaths, and so he offered._

_Technology truly has improved in leaps and bounds, hasn’t it? It is a wonderful thing, to see sprout the beginnings of a new frontier, and I think it would be an even more wondrous experience should you be exploring that frontier as well._

_I am an old man. The journey of my youth is over, the journey of my older years is over, and now I breach to the beyond yet still, for the next great adventure…_

_I hope you might feel so inclined as to start your own as well, to commemorate such a glorious occasion._

_With all my love and sincerest wishes,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

* * *

He hadn’t believed it when he’d gotten it. Of all things Dumbledore could’ve left him, a _game_? A _virtual reality game_ no less! It might not have been the oddest gift he’d gotten from the man, but certainly the most… _out of place_. Then again, it _was_ Dumbledore. That old geezer pulled surprises out of his hat like candy, which was every other hour considering the usual pack of lemon drops he had on him….

After thinking about it for awhile, Tom had accepted the fact that _yes_ , Dumbledore _was_ the type of person to do this and he shouldn’t be surprised at all. What would’ve been unexpected instead would have been if the man gave him a gift that actually made sense. Like money. Or a piece of furniture. _Both things_ , Tom didn’t want nor need, so maybe the man’s strange gift _had_ worked out in the end.

Tom didn’t want nor need a virtual reality game, but at least it was interesting.

So he tried it.

His username was Voldemort, race human, appearance as he was in real life. Some strange hat had appeared after he said he didn’t particularly care where he ended up, and after one good look at him in an even _stranger_ mirror, the hat’s first words out of its mouth (to think, a hat with a _mouth_!) had been, “Oh for Merlin’s sake—BETTER BE SLYTHERIN, and if that’s not the perfect house for you, Fawkes might as well _fire me_ from this job, literally!”

He’d been sent to the South into some Kingdom on the outskirts of the region, and ended up in a beginner town that had the ominous name of _Malarum_. Honestly, _who_ names their town _that_? But Tom was amused by it enough to keep playing. He’d gone through his four weeks doing all sorts of work for the townspeople, keeping his ear to the wall just as well and hearing all the information that passed.

Malarum was situated in the cradle of a swamp, not like Nox Kingdom’s capital Potestas Major which was placed to _hide_ in their swamp, but more because there had been a previous civilization there, and Malarum took its place some three hundred years ago. Or so the story went, according to the locals. The land had looked a lot different three hundred years ago—still swamp-like, but less dreary and depressing.

Then after that the NPCs had gotten quiet on the subject. Tom hadn’t pushed.

After his four weeks, Tom continued to do quests from the NPCs, specifically the newer that were now available with his recognition as a trustworthy player. Some were simple things, like finding an item or exterminating some pests, or gathering materials farther from town, but they rarely led to anything significant. Just experience points, really.

The only piece of information Tom had gotten _legitimately_ from the quests came from the village’s elder. He’d told Tom of a “good hunting spot” a fair but manageable distance off the outskirts of the town, hidden in the swampy foliage. According to the other beginner players, the old man told this piece of information to _every user he met_ after the completion of _one_ of his quests.

So the information wasn’t very _good_.

Tom snooped around a bit more to find out why people weren’t going there. Apparently the stench was horrible, and no one could stand training there for long even though it looked to be a good spot. Other players said it was creepy, and that even though they _started in the South,_ expecting such places what with the rumor of Slytherin nobles practicing the Forbidden Dark Arts, there was _no way_ that _anyone_ could force them to spend their online gaming time in such an ominous place.

Their eyes showed Tom that the area certainly wasn’t welcoming in appearance.

So, Tom snooped around _even more_. What types of monsters were there? What was their level range? Did it get higher?

Sadly, none of the answers were very satisfactory. Most people reached the spot and left. Those that stayed for a bit longer trained on the outside as they didn’t want to get closer to where the stench was originating. No one had _actually_ gone inside the cave to figure out what was there, and only noticed a few bones lying about the entrance.

On the outside there were your basic swamp monsters—slimes, frogs, things of that nature. None of it pointed _anywhere_ to what the smell could be.

Tom wasn’t phased in the least. He worked in a business that associated with the dead, and he’d had to smell his fair share of rotten flesh and the like that which _no one else_ wanted to. Not to mention a numerous amounts of incense—eastern, western, _from wherever_. Just because he worked in the upper chains of command, managing and all that, didn’t mean he’d never had to get down to the basics.

 _Someone_ had to get the embalmer. _Someone_ had to call the morgue. _Someone_ had to do this, and do that, and—

So Tom wasn’t impeded by all of the players’ stories at all.

He’d checked online, of course. While _Witches and Wizards_ was new, it wasn’t _three days ago_ new. There had to be _some_ type of information, especially since it was a beginner town. Surely the info wasn’t worth so much that someone would conceal it.

It just figured that Tom would find the same things _on the internet_ as he did _in game_. Though, from all the feedback, he’d managed to conclude that he landed in the worst beginner town possible. Too little traffic left the quests monotonous, no nearby training spots with amazing spawn rates, _small_ , the list went on.

But Tom dealt with it. The information was mildly irritating, but he wouldn’t let it set him back. He’d dedicated _time_ to this already; there was no point in leaving it as it was now. Besides, the game was actually interesting. He hadn’t played any virtual reality games previous to this one, so the experience was new and he could see how it could be enjoyable in the future.

So he’d gathered up his meager belongings, a few loaves of bread and a dagger, and went.

The first thing he noticed was that the smell, though unpleasant, was also somewhat… familiar. Either way Tom had long learned how to mute the smells he didn’t want to smell, so he didn’t think much of it. On the outside there was indeed a good gathering of monsters, just because other players never really came back to hunt them after getting a breath of the horrid stench.

He trained at the entrance for awhile, reaching a level of ten before he entered the strange cave. While that meant he was just five levels away from a job advancement, Tom wasn’t particularly interested in any of the basic classes. Mage, archer, rogue, warrior… They all sounded so _boring_.

 _Witches and Wizards_ had an odd job advancement system, from what Tom learned. There were four basic classes one could take at level 15. At level 30, these generic classes could be advanced again to a more specialized category. For example, warriors, after fulfilling certain other requirements, could go to a certain NPC and take the quest to become a knight. Mages could become priests, or an elemental wizard. The list went on.

These specialized classes were called “quest classes,” and a player could not take on another class after obtaining one. Once a decision was made in regards to a class and the “Accept” button was pressed, it was usually unchangeable unless under special circumstances.

Usually, players did not want to reveal their quest class, because that would also reveal some of their weaknesses! There was no hiding your basic class—it was obvious if you were an archer, and obvious if you were a mage for example—but quest classes were numerous. It was difficult to figure out just by seeing equipment and weapons.

Quest classes were, however, different from something called “secret classes.” From what Tom had found through casual research, secret classes did not need a basic class as a requirement. A player could become a secret (or hidden as the alternative name was for it) class at any level. They were also rare—often there were, as the name implied, secret requirements to find hidden classes that needed to be fulfilled before a player even got a system message, and most unreported were stumbled upon by mistake.

A common secret class was martial artist. An uncommon hidden class was paladin—though not because of any mystery. The requirements were simply notoriously difficult, consisting of earning a lot of upper level NPC favor and faith stat. Rarer, lesser known hidden classes included bestial tamer, necromancer, shaman and the like, which were rumored or seen but once, undiscovered or shrouded in mystery to most of the player base.

Hidden classes were known to be classes of great risk and great reward. Some of them were just all-around weak. Others had potential, but were found difficult to realize that potential. Others were extremely strong in capable hands, while others needed diligent time and care to succeed.

Players did not want to reveal their secret class either. If necessary, they often reported the basic class that their weapon could be identified with. Paladins would claim they were warriors, shamans as mages, hunters as archers, so on so forth. If specialization was important, they would state a skill or small phrase of what they could do. There were certain formats to it that Tom hadn’t entirely learned yet, but he figured that he’d learn them as he went if they were necessary.

He couldn't really imagine himself partying with anyone in the future, but it was often necessary for hunting at higher levels. Not to mention, he didn't even choose a class yet. Tom figured he would just go with the flow until he saw something interesting.

From doing a little reading online, Tom figured out exactly what stat points did and how best to distribute them. However, he didn’t want to use them yet, even though he’d been getting five per level since leveling to level two. Tom had nine times five—so, 45—unused stat points, ready to be distributed whenever he figured out what he wanted to be.

Currently, his stats looked like this:

**Name: Voldemort ~ Level: 10**

**Faction: Slytherin ~ Class: None**

**Title: None ~ Fame: 0**

**Health: 350 ~ Mana: 100**

**Strength: 10 ~ Stamina: 10**

**Intellect: 10 ~ Wisdom: 10**

**Luck: 10 ~ Agility: 10 (+1)**

**Attack: 0 (+3) ~ Defense: 0 (+4)**

**Fullness: 90 ~ Fatigue: 10**

The three attack was from his dagger, and the four in defense was from his thin tunic, cotton pants, peasant gloves, and, of course, newbie boots, which also gave him his one point in agility.

Because the area he was in now was no longer profitable experience-wise, Tom decided to go further toward the strange stench. In the end, he reached the entrance of an indiscriminate cave—more wide than it was tall. He had to duck to swing his body under the cave ceiling. However, upon actually entering, the ceiling grew taller and he had enough space to stand at his full height and some.

Tom looked around. Certainly, the smell was stronger here. But where was it coming from? He wasn't at the source yet, was he?

 _Something dying_ , Tom thought, _or something already dead_.

It was a strike of recognition! Tom decided to continue more carefully. There was something strange in the air, and he did not know if it was a monster or an item but it was more than likely a monster, from what he’d read online.

There was a shift of movement to his left. The player instantly turned toward it.

At first, Tom didn’t recognize anything. It was dim in the cave, since the opening wasn’t exactly a gaping hole, and what he was looking for was one of the monsters outside that had gotten in the cave. His assumptions were quickly proven wrong. From the wall of the cave behind a rather large rock formation, a dirty white _something_ shifted and crawled out.

Tom squinted. And then he saw it in its full entirety.

It was a skeleton!

The skull turned to face him directly, its eye sockets unseeing but _looking_ at him at the same time, and then it began to move towards him.

Very slowly.

Tom, who had tensed in preparation, realized he was in no immediate threat. In fact, it took a good thirty seconds for the skeleton to get halfway toward him! It was a _joke_. Tom stared.

Then, the player moved around, giving the skeleton a wide berth while doing so, to get behind the monster. It tried to turn and follow his movement, but Tom, who was moving at a normal pace, proved too fast still. Tom got behind the skeleton, and then in one smooth movement grabbed its spine and _yanked_.

The upper body fell, severed. However, since the lower body was still upright, Tom kicked it over and then stomped on the bones.

“Not bad experience,” he said, checking what he’d gotten for the kill. “Not bad at all.”

An unconventional way to kill an undead monster! The skeleton was actually very life-like. Most players would freeze up at the sight of their first undead because of the realism! However, Tom was not perturbed. In university, he had taken his fair share of physiology, biology, and anatomy classes. Dissection was not new to him in the least, and neither was seeing a real skeleton.

Most players would also fight the skeleton using whatever weapon they had! The undead stank of rot and, of course, death—no one wanted to touch one. But Tom again was not perturbed. Instead of fighting the monster face to face with his tiny dagger, he instead used his hands to yank out the spine and thus land a critical hit. 

It was a lot more effective to take apart the skeleton than try to cut its bones with a small blade. Tom, satisfied with how simple the hunting would be, continued on into the cave methodically. Whenever the path forked, he would continue until he found a dead-end and then cycle back to go the other route. The skeleton mobs steadily grew, but so did his experience fighting them.

**You have learned a new skill:**

**Undead Mastery Beginner Level 1 (0%): Your understanding of undead monsters can greatly help in combat.**

**Passive: Damage to undead increases with skill level as well as level difference between yourself and the undead monster.**

**Additional effects involving the undead will be added as Undead Mastery skill level increases.**

And, because Tom was using his bare hands to rip at the monsters, his stats increased by a few points as well!

**You struck a critical hit through meticulous use of force. Strength and Wisdom have increased by 1.**

**…**

**From ceaseless battle, Stamina has increased by 1.**

**…**

**Because of your endless battle inside of a cave, your eyes can see clearer in the dark. Intellect has increased by 1.**

**…**

He’d also gotten an interesting message after pulling apart a skeleton and trying to interchange its bones with another undead.

**You have created a new stat: Taint of the Dead.**

As much as Tom wanted to log off and research it, he knew he could do that later as well. Besides, it seemed like he was unable to put any of his stat points in it—curious, that—so for such a reason, he unhesitatingly put it off!

By the time Tom felt he had thoroughly explored the cave, he was level 20 with 95 unused stat points. Taint of the Dead had also increased by several points on its own. His Undead Mastery skill had leveled up several times as well—all the way to Beginner Level 5!—which was an enormous help because Tom’s stats were technically still those of a completely new player. Undead Mastery boosted his damage a considerable amount within the cave, so much so that Tom didn’t even need to rip out the spine in order to kill the skeletons.

He could twist off the head. Snap off a leg. Break the neck. All in all, it was a very useful skill, and without it Tom doubted he would have had the self-restraint to continue training without using his stat points!

The one major problem a player would have hunting inside these caves was how big the mobs could grow. Tom was very comfortable with killing skeletons already, so it wasn’t that bad, but for those who try to kill the undead monsters with their daggers, or with ineffective punches and kicks, it would take many more hits and by that time, the skeletons would’ve noticed the battle and come to swarm.

They didn’t deal very much damage individually, but when one is surrounded by skeletons, it certainly adds up! Tom had a few close calls when he forgot to be careful, but overall the grind was not particularly taxing.

Tom finally decided to rest. He needed to start seriously considering his stat points—he couldn’t stay within the cave forever, nor exclusively hunt undead monsters because he didn’t know where they were…never mind if he could even get to them. If he was fighting anything else, he would almost certainly die regardless of if the monster in question was the same level as him. Levels meant nothing if he didn’t invest his stat points.

But the issue of his class remained. Tom did not know what he wanted to be; he didn’t favor a particular class nor disdain a certain one. All of them had their pros and cons.

Warriors would run the risk of being overwhelmed during solo play. Mages and archers were frail. Rogues were similarly weak in defense, and were not designed for dealing with mobs either—they were best at dealing general damage to bosses as assassins. There were, of course, the special hidden classes, but where was Tom going to find one of those? He certainly wasn’t just going to _waltz across one_ this early in the game…

Tom’s musing was set aside when he noticed a niche in a dead end that he had not seen before. He approached it, and seeing that it led into another section of the cave that he hadn’t gone into before, went in.

There was a pool of water inside the cavern, as well as an old wooden boat sloppily tied to a stalagmite. Tom looked across the water toward the tiny island of rocks at its center. There appeared to be something there, though what he couldn’t exactly make out. Whatever it was sat upon an odd looking rock formation…actually, the rock almost seemed to form a _chair_. No, not a chair…it was too large to just be a _chair_. Perhaps a _throne_?

 And sitting on the seat of that was a pile of something white. Bones…they _had_ to be bones, Tom thought while squinting.

How strange.

He looked inside the boat. There was a single paddle there, rotting but still useable, and seeing that there was no water at the bottom of the boat, Tom decided to assume there weren’t any holes he’d have to worry about either. If he chose to sail it, that is.

…Who was he kidding; something like this _screamed_ quest, and he was bored of picking apart skeletons.

Tom got on the boat and made his way across.

**You feel an ominous chill.**

The player blinked, but continued on. Quest, or _boss monster_? Probably the former.

About three quarters the way there, Tom got another message.

**Your boat has sprung a leak. Proceed?**

That was…odd. Tom frowned as he looked at the slightly transparent message box in front of him. It would’ve been completely normal had it not been for that last word— _Proceed_. There were two buttons at the bottom, the left a green one with the word “YES” on it and the right one a red option with the word “NO”.

Why did he have a choice? If he pressed “NO”, would it send him back to shore? Tom’s hand hovered over the bright stop-sign red before suddenly moving over and pressing “YES” instead.

If the boat was leaking, that meant he would likely not be able to cross again. It would be too cautious to choose “NO”—Tom did not have any valuables on him; only a bunch of skeleton bones and some bread left to eat. The worst that could happen to him was death, and even then death meant little to a new player. It would be different if he had any rare equips, but because he didn’t, “YES” was about as safe as “NO”, and the former had a higher chance of giving him a reward.

So “YES” it was.

Tom began to paddle again. He could feel the water around his shoes; thankfully he was wearing boots so they wouldn’t be soaked through all the way, but they weren’t of a high enough quality to keep his feet completely dry. By the time Tom reached the small island, he knew he had to abandon the boat. He jumped off right in time.

**Your boat is full of water.**

**Your boat has sunk.**

White, spindly bones rose from the water’s depths. The hands grabbed at the wood, poor in power but mighty in numbers. Tom could make out skulls under the water, empty sockets staring into nothingness as they dragged the boat down, down, down. A horrifying event, to know that if he had not gotten out of the boat, they would’ve dragged _him_ along with it! Tom turned away when the skeletons retreated into their murky sanctuary.

Yes. There were more important things to deal with—like the pile of bones atop the rock throne.

**You feel an ominous chill.**

**You are paralyzed by fear.**

“ _Closer_ ,” the word pulsed in the air. “ _Closer,_ _he who can resist. He who can stand. If you can come closer, I will acknowledge your potential._ ”

Tom tried. He genuinely _did_ try to move—whether that was to turn around and _runrunrun gettheHELLoutofhere_ or to move forward, he didn’t know. Either way, he found his legs numb, pricked on every square centimeter of his skin with needles, weighed down by shackles of enormous weight. Tom tried to move his hands. Only his fingers twitched.

“ _Hm…Then you are not the one I seek…You are not he who is destined to succeed me…”_

Tom sneered. “Are you saying I’m _weak_?”

“ _The weakest to have ever come here,”_ the voice said, amused. “ _Foolish, foolish adventurer, to venture here so woefully untrained and unprepared. You are not even strong enough to know my name—to know who I am! I will let you leave with your life, but only this once, as I pity you and your misfortune.”_

Tom withheld a snarl at the insult. He openly acknowledged he was weak within the game’s context—95 unused stat points!—but did whoever the voice was _have_ to be so _condescending_? That pissed him off!

“I’ve ripped skeletons more put together than _you_ to pieces,” Tom snapped. “What are you but a pile of bones? Isn’t that right? You’re the one sitting on the rocks, aren’t you?”

 _“How astute of you…”_ The skeleton’s head shook, and then its jaw fell and rose as the teeth clattered together in a mocking form of a laugh. “ _But you still cannot move_.”

“Of course I can,” Tom replied immediately. “This is a game. This fear isn’t real. I’m not truly paralyzed, just like _you_ truly don’t exist. I can move.”

The skeleton ignored all of that except Tom’s last claim. “ _Then come closer, if you can. Come closer, and I will acknowledge your potential.”_

Tom glared. He was still paralyzed by fear. How was one supposed to overcome an irrational, _fake_ sensation of fear? Logically he understood it for what it was. Emotionally, on the other hand…

Why was he so scared in the first place? Was it because…because—

There was a sensation in the air. What was it, Tom didn’t know, or at least couldn’t put a name on it. But it was big and overwhelming and _invisible_ ; the worst sort of enemy of all, especially when it seemed intent on suffocating him. _Fear_. What an ugly feeling. Tom never liked _fear_ —it had its uses, but more often than not it was being a nuisance to him. Tom knew how to suppress real life fear—to dissuade its manifestation in the first place.

Ergo, to dismantle the foundation of the fear by replacing it with logical thought and reasonable fact.

…But he tried that, didn’t he?

No. Not in the context of the game. And the _game_ was what he had to reason with—so, what could he say to combat this irrational fear? What could he do in order to overcome the paralysis?

Tom tried to move again. He remembered the skulls in the water, the boney hands and arms that reached up above the surface and grappled with the boat’s wood. He remembered them pulling it down, down into the depths where he could not see, and wondered if there was an army lying in weight there in the water. Perhaps not so irrational after all.

But he knew death, knew the anatomy of the human body like the back of his hand. Tom knew through science and study and _logic_ what ‘death’ was, and so the _un_ dead—

The undead had power unlike those of the living. However, just the same, because they were _not_ living, they suffered consequences by their existing in a realm not meant for them. Bones brittle with time and weakness, sluggish movements unfit for hunting, individually weak. Their only advantage was resilience—if taken apart, they could put themselves back together again. Continue to rise. Form a mob. Eventually overcome using sheer numbers alone.

The undead were not dead. They could not fully harness the power that came to those who were _truly_ not of this plane—such as ghosts, for example, if one was to assume ghosts did indeed exist in the game. In that case, then, what did he have to fear? A pile of bones, an army of undead skeletons lying beneath the lake?

These were weak undead though. Tom saw. They could live in the most hostile environments, survive the harshest weather and lie in wait for the longest times, but in the end as long as he was in the realm of the living—

**Your understanding of the undead has increased.**

**Because of your knowledge in Undead Mastery, you manage to fight off the paralysis.**

Tom took a step forward. One foot, then the other. One arm, and then the other…until he was standing right in front of the throne.

“Close enough for you?” he asked.

The skull’s jaw rattled again. “ _He who can resist. He who can stand before me. He who knows but cannot see…Would you like eyes? Eyes to see what you know but cannot yet decipher. Eyes that see what has always rested unseen. Would you like to see me,_ he who can stand _?”_

“My eyes are fine,” Tom replied carefully. “I can see you as you are; a mere pile of bones!”

The skull laughed. “ _An interesting answer,_ he who resists _! Yes, you are worthy of them—you are worthy of not only the ability, but_ my eyes _. You who are mortal, exists as one who is not. My men fear you, they quiver at your arrival, and for they who do not feel fear to_ know it _…You have potential. The disposition of he who shall stand above all others—the undead or the living, it matters not. I shall give you my eyes, but first…”_

It was all terribly ominous. Tom, while interested, did not especially _want_ an undead’s eyes—specifically because they didn’t have any! He assumed then that ‘eyes’ was a symbol for something else; perhaps their sort of sight? When Tom was fighting skeletons, he noticed they did not see him normally. They could be staring right at him but not _see_ him.

One could say that that in itself is a display of blindness, but Tom also saw examples of sight. Skeletons walked around obstacles, and when he threw a rock, their heads followed the projectile before the sound of it hitting the ground could be heard.

While fairly interesting, Tom did not want this for himself! It seemed like a handicap more than anything! The undead’s brand of sight would most certainly be a downgrade!

“Thank you for the offer, but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline,” the player hurried to say, but it was too late.

The skull laughed. “ _It wasn’t an offer,_ he who stands. _Now, die.”_

**You feel an ominous chill.**

By the time Tom had gotten the message, boney wet hands had already grabbed his ankles and legs, pulling him into the water below. Fully submerged, they gripped at his throat until the air he’d taken in by surprise left completely in bubbles, floating to the surface he didn’t think he’d see again.

Death came quickly, then.

* * *

**Name: Voldemort ~ Level: 20**

**Faction: Slytherin ~ Class: None**

**Title: None ~ Fame: 0**

**Health: 700 ~ Mana: 100**

**Strength: 11 ~ Stamina: 11**

**Intellect: 11 ~ Wisdom: 11**

**Luck: 10 ~ Agility: 10 (+1)**

**Taint of the Dead: 4**

**Attack: 0 (+3) ~ Defense: 0 (+4)**

**Fullness: 70 ~ Fatigue: 25**

**Current Skills: Undead Mastery (Beg. lv 5)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arguably less than what Harry had, but what can you expect when Tom hoards his stat points??????
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is comparably short but I figured there was a decent amount of back story and a good start to Tom's job advancement arc to make it worth it. Again, I don't think Tom's job advancement will be as long as Harry's but it will get the ball rolling, and Tom has as much potential as Harry to turn out pretty OP. haha
> 
> If you have any questions feel free to ask! (and before anyone does, yes; I have a penchant for having AD adopt Tom :D if I can)


	7. Entry VII: To Hold But Not Yet Own

Tom woke abruptly, eyes snapping open only to see the headgear of the virtual reality equipment.

It had been…an experience. Dying, that is. In game.

It hadn’t hurt, Tom decided. _Witches and Wizards_ made it clear that the pain levels they transmitted were muted, made to be uncomfortable rather than outright painful. Drowning, lungs filling with water, being unable to breathe—it had been uncomfortable, with the pain being equivalent to the level of a nasty bruising, but not much more.

Tom lifted his hand to press it against his chest, right over his heart. Still beating.

Loudly as well.

Tom’s head was filled with bouncing information and theories. Skeletons, water, a throne and _eyes_. No, _sight_. It was all a lot to take in. The feeling of four hours passing by, and yet only an hour had passed in reality. Tom checked the clock on the wall.

Eleven o’clock at night. Not terribly late, after all.

* * *

After calming himself down from his first death in _Witches and Wizards_ —a nice hot shower did wonders, as it was—Tom settled into his plush computer chair and decided to do some research before turning in for the night. He was curious about the whole ordeal, and if someone else had encountered what he had before, then surely it was bizarre enough to post on the internet?

First, the cave. His previous attempts had been fruitless, but maybe now that he knew it was full of undead skeletons he would get a result or two. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.

Tom tried to narrow it down. The faction with the smallest player base was undoubtedly _Slytherin_. Hufflepuff had the most players, with Gryffindor and Ravenclaw roughly in a tie for second. While it wasn’t by extremely large numbers that Slytherin was the smallest, it was still a significant amount. That considered, there were several newbie towns one could end up in.

Since Slytherin had the least amount of traffic, it also had the fewest amount of newbie towns—there was a theory going around that the game generated more should the proportion of incoming players rise, but it was as of yet unconfirmed. All that supported the theory was the appearance of more newbie towns after the game’s popularity rose; they had been unannounced, but it wasn’t farfetched to assume the developers simply added them without warning.

Tom digressed. He was moving off topic.

The amount of identified newbie towns in Slytherin amounted to five. Out of all of them, _Malarum_ —the place Tom ended up in—was the smallest, and the worst. Apparently not all the newbie towns received the same rate of players. It was possible that it was random, but also possible that it was not—no one had figured out the formula, if there was any. Fair enough.

 _Malarum_ was unpopular for a reason—it was considered the worst, so people wanted to get out of it faster. Also, since it was the smallest, not many people ended up there anyway. Those things concluded, it should be reasonable that there wasn’t anyone who went into the cave, explored it, _and_ decided to post it online. The amount of players who posted information was very different from the amount of players who actually played the game, after all.

There were people who simply browsed for information, never giving back in return, as well as people who simply didn’t research at all through external resources. There were simply too many variables. Tom did not know if anyone had ever found the ‘throne room’ he had died in, or even if someone had gone through the exact same thing and was told to ‘die’.

So he didn’t know if this ‘event’—if an event was what it was—lead anywhere significant, or where he would end up if he followed through. What items he could have a chance of getting, or what effects it had upon his character, were also unknown. Tom conceded the information simply wasn’t available—whether through a genuine lack _or_ a purposeful censoring of it—and decided to move on.

The skull had spoken of eyes— _special_ eyes. Eyes that saw what could not normally be seen, or something like that.

Tom had assumed it meant the undead’s eyes, as the skull had said, very specifically, “ _my eyes_.” And since there were clearly no eyeballs in the eye sockets of the skull, it _had_ to be a metonymy. Eyes meant sight. A special sight, specific to the undead?

Going by Tom’s previous logic, that would be a clear downgrade—even a handicap—as he was in the realm of the living, currently. It would place a restriction upon his sight because the ability of an undead was limited _because_ they were not in the realm of the dead. They were not alive, and yet existed as if they were. There were consequences for things of that nature, Tom figured. There had to be. That was how games usually operated.

Putting that aside, there was also another point the skull made—one had to be ‘worthy’ of the eyes. The skull had to “acknowledge potential”, whatever that meant. Of course, it was equally possible that the ability was utter cow manure _anyway_ and that ‘playing it up’ could not be trusted because the undead were the enemy of the living—

Theories that Tom was unable to put any weight upon! It was because in the end, he knew little about how _Witches and Wizards_ was prone to moving. What the quest system was like, how one thing led to another, what sort of nuances a seasoned player would find second nature…he had none of them. Yet. And so he continued to question his own thoughts, unable to settle on something definite because he lacked knowledge!

‘Eyes of the undead’, ‘Witches and Wizards’ was what he searched.  No results.

Tom tried ‘Sight ability’, ‘Witches and Wizards’—but that was too vague. The results he got were too varied. He tried to add the word ‘dead’, and then after that ‘undead’, but nothing was related to his situation.

 Tom reminded himself that _Witches and Wizards_ , while not completely new, was still considered fresh on the market. The player base hadn’t peaked and was looking like it wasn’t going to peak for awhile—so it was still possible that he was the first to experience this event. Unlikely, but possible. Seeing as this too was a dead end, Tom decided to search up the stat he’d created instead.

‘Taint of the Dead’. _This_ got results.

It was a necromancer’s stat—a hidden class’ stat! Tom, somewhat disbelieving, browsed around some more. necromancers were definitely rare, so it wasn’t like there was a boundless amount of information about them, but apparently _this stat_ was basic enough that it was known and available to the general public player base.

 _Taint of the Dead_ —the approximate equivalent of a Paladin’s faith stat. However, there were key differences.

It was a stat that points could not be put in. Only actions could raise it. For a Paladin, some stat points every level should be set aside to raising faith, as it proved to strengthen their overall defenses and skills. For a necromancer, while Taint of the Dead did the same thing, it could not be leveled in this way—necromancers had to constantly be dealing with the undead because of this.

Taint of the Dead could only be raised through involvement with undead monsters or actions. The stat points were consumed the longer a necromancer stayed away from the undead, or their own raised army of undead monsters. So, staying in a town or refraining from battle for too long could decrease it. Also, the rate that it was decreased by _increased_ if on holy ground, such as a church.

Naturally, this effected how a necromancer played! Necromancers, already shunned by many because of their undead, would much prefer hunting in lands distant from society, and their stay in such places with more players would be much shorter as they rushed away in order to preserve their hard earned stat points!  

Sociable necromancers could not be as strong because their Taint of the Dead would be lower—most players, after all, saw cities and towns as their base; a place they would always return to after a hard hunt or difficult quest! On the other hand, necromancers would see cities and towns as places to restock supplies and then to immediately leave—a pit stop, like how one would stop at a gas station on a road trip! The difference between the two would be as jarring as night and day. Having a permanent party as a necromancer would be too difficult and uncomfortable.

Tom continued to read. Apparently, this handicap only applied to races that were not already associated with death, who became necromancers. Humans were affected—so were elves, and dwarves, and beast race players. Demons, on the other hand, were not affected—they could freely roam without fearing their Taint of the Dead stat would decrease, should they be a necromancer. It would probably be the same for an undead race too, but no one had figured out how to become an undead as it wasn’t one of the offered races during character creation.

Tom had found a thread for necromancers to share information. It was a rare find, as most forums like that required an account and identification. People did not want to share valuable information with strangers—they wanted to know who they shared with, _and_ get information in return.

This thread, because it was public, was not as full on information as Tom would like. It was more casual, a place to complain or tell odd stories, cracking jokes and moving off into tangents rather than serious trading, but they mentioned Taint of the Dead often enough in its abbreviated form—TotD, TD, or sometimes even taint.

 _My TD dropped again today,_ someone would say, and another person would sympathetically pat them on the back. _It happens,_ they would reply, _Even when we’re careful, dropping is inevitable. Such is the life of a necro. How much did you lose?_ And so on and so forth.

 _I regret being an elf,_ a player said. _I didn’t know I was going to find the necromancer class! I would’ve been a demon for sure otherwise. But I don’t want to recreate my character since I’ve already gotten so far…_

 _Managed to reach a new goal—got 100 TD without dropping as of today! Let’s see how long I can keep it up…_ another wrote.

 _I’ve never lost TotD_ , another person, known to be of the demon race, cheekily replied.

 _Get out,_ said another forum user, _demon race pride not appreciated here. You don’t know the suffering of us NDs!_

It really was nonsense, but Tom learned quite a bit of shorthand browsing the forums. ND was short for ‘not demons’ among necromancers, which Tom inferred to mean that the only race so far confirmed that did _not_ lose Taint of the Dead were demons.

There rose an interesting point—everyone assumed necromancers were the only players with Taint of the Dead as a stat. Demons were not created with it. Necromancers seemed to gain it upon obtaining their class. A case like Tom’s—where he was in possession of the stat but _not_ the class—was definitely unheard of. It more resembled a scenario of gaining the faith stat despite not being a bishop or paladin.

But _that was the problem_! Creating a faith stat required constant visit to the church, doing quests for the clergy, and such and such of that nature. Tom considered his own situation and figured that the Taint of the Dead stat came from him killing so many undead—but if that was the requirement, why did it seem like no one else managed to do what he did? He was sure many other people hunted undead. Paladins especially would be the most likely, as their attacks were super effective against the undead and therefore ideal grinding monsters.

Did faith cancel out taint? No. He was sure it didn’t work that way, otherwise there would’ve been posts about it. Tom, growing frustrated but _enjoying_ the challenge, thought back again.

He hadn’t simply killed the skeletons, he admitted. That would’ve been boring, and he wasn’t going to play a game he considered entertainment if it was _boring_. So, he’d mixed it up a little. Tried to find out how the skeletons functioned. Could they trade bones? How far did a bone have to be until it was considered out of range of the skeleton? How about an arm, a hand? The bones still moved detached from the skeleton, so what would happen if—

…That sort of thing. Those sort of questions.

Now that Tom thought about it, no wonder he learned that new skill—Undead Mastery! It was apparently common among necromancers as well, but they didn’t learn it like he had. They learned it through an NPC, or a quest, or a book even.

Not manually, by simply spending time around undead.

Taint of the Dead, Undead Mastery, and something about eyes…dying, too…

Tom blinked in realization. Had he accidentally stumbled upon a way to obtain the secret necromancer class? There were multiple ways to get some hidden classes, and if necromancer was one of them—

What if what _he_ was doing was one of the more difficult ways? What if the requirements had been Undead Mastery and Taint of the Dead before he’d even become a necromancer? What if…

And if _it_ _was_ , did he _want_ to become a necromancer? He was human. Taint decreasing was troublesome. But at the same time, it sounded interesting…

It sounded fun.

Tom settled on maybe. _Maybe_ he would. _Maybe_ he wouldn’t. The only thing that mattered was whether or not he enjoyed the game—and if the nuances that came with being a necromancer were too troublesome and outweighed the good things, then it wasn’t worth investing his time in. That was that.

How coincidental, that death would follow him even into a game.

* * *

When Tom logged on again, he expected to appear at Malarum’s rebirth point. To his surprise, this wasn’t the case.

He was in the cave again. On the island, to be precise. As if he had never drowned…

Tom sat up. Again, another oddity. When one dies, usually they respawn standing. Why was he on the ground…?

 _“Welcome back to the land of the living,”_ a familiar voice greeted.

There, still, on the throne was the same pile of bones with the skull on top. Its empty eye sockets stared at him unnervingly, darkness piercing to his very mind but distant all the same. Tom stood.

“You killed me.”

“ _You drowned.”_ It was neither a confirmation or a denial. Tom frowned at that. Social politicking came to him as easy as breathing, but it was unexpected to encounter it with an NPC—undead, specifically. “ _Will you receive my eyes?”_

“I thought you said it wasn’t an offer,” Tom said.

“ _It wasn’t.”_

When the skull said no more, Tom spoke again. If something was going to be forced upon him, might as well know as much as possible about it—the internet certainly didn’t help _that_. His only other option was learning about it inside the game— _from_ the game. “What are these eyes of yours?”

“ _They are the Eyes of Death,”_ the skull replied ominously. “ _They see what no living being sees. A human like you could not possibly obtain them anywhere or any way else. No—even if you hadn’t been human, you would not have had these eyes. They are cursed eyes, blessed cursed eyes…these Eyes of Death. I called them mine, but truly only because I was the previous holder of them. The only one who owns them is Death, and death itself._

_“A living being is not supposed to see what these eyes reveal. The difference between the essence of the living and the dead…do you wish to know? The Eyes of Death is one key of two to show you. Possess the other key that Life has left on this continent, and perhaps you will have the chance to know.”_

“Perhaps? If one has both keys, shouldn’t one be able to open the lock?”

The skull cackled. “ _Who’s to say? The keys are not enough alone. The Eyes of Life have been spread amongst those Life assumed were capable—thousands and thousands of years ago. But none have been able to use them. The Eyes of Death are more exclusive—I have waited for hundreds of years for the opportunity to pass on these eyes of mine. For_ the _one. And now he stands before me. Do you wish to know?_ ”

When it came to death, was it ever truly a question for Tom? Death had stalked him; lead him and stood beside him since he could remember. Even now, in an illusion world departed from reality…death was here. Did he want to know, even if it wasn’t real?

Of course he did.

“I suppose I do want those eyes of yours after all,” Tom declared.

“ _What is your name,_ he who will receive the Eyes _?”_

“Voldemort.”

“ _Voldemort…”_ the skull mused. Its teeth clacked together as it laughed again. “ _Then I will tell you what I was told before, hundreds of years ago, when I first received the eyes…”_

**You have learned a new skill.**

**_As every living thing in Mortem possesses an essence of life, so too do they possess a ‘placeholder’ for their own essence of death. These placeholders can only be seen by those few who are chosen to hold the Eyes, appearing as shadows—the shadows the soul casts, made of anti-mana! Without anti-mana, the essence of the dead, mana itself could not exist in the world._ **

**_While the two can never combine, their existences are paramount to the other. And despite this importance, very few know of the existence of anti-mana and its purpose, as it is only something that can be known in death. Its similarities to mana make it very hard to distinguish for those who are ignorant to it._ **

**_With your new understanding and respect of anti-mana, your eyes have been granted a new ability._ **

**Shadow Reader Beginner Level 1 (0%): Allows you to recognize the presence of anti-mana, as well as see the shadows of the soul belonging to the living.**

**At the beginner level, mana will be consumed per second for the duration you have your sight active. However, certain events may trigger Shadow Reader to be activated without your command.**

**Gained title: “Holder of the Eyes of Death”**

“ _Now,_ he who holds the eyes _, won’t you put me back together again? You cannot see me until I am whole.”_

**Reanimate the Undead Quest**

**_The undead are held together by a fluctuation of their anti-mana. When disconnected, their points of connection grow weaker—which is how damage is dealt upon them—and if completely taken apart, they grow unable to put themselves together again. Put back together the mysterious skeleton on the stone throne, and you will be able to see his true form._ **

**Difficulty: F**

Tom’s first reaction was that the skill was useless, but the quest had some potential. His second reaction was to reconsider his first opinion, since it was likely that the skill was required in order to complete the quest. _Then_ he wondered what the use of it even was (returning to his first reaction), as mana was the power of the living and the majority of things in the realm of the living were, obviously, _alive_.

Even the undead were, in one way, _living_. The quest said so itself—they were held together by a _fluctuation_ of anti-mana! Fluctuating things were obviously unstable, and obviously unstable things were, usually, either potentially powerful or practically weak.

Then Tom thought some more. He may be in the realm of the living _now_ , but there _had_ to be a realm of the dead somewhere, right? Otherwise the transition of anti-mana would be pointless, because it would transport it nowhere in the game, and then it’d be in oblivion (or deleted). But if anti-mana ended in oblivion, then mana could not exist because the anti-mana would be erased. _So_ , there had to be another place inside the game that stored the anti-mana—ergo, the realm of the dead.

There, maybe Tom’s potentially growing knowledge of anti-mana would prove useful. After all, not even the dead _knew of it_ , which meant he was a step above already. And besides, the realm of the dead sounded interesting on its own—would _Witches and Wizards_ treat it as Hell, the afterlife, purgatory or—?

 _Never mind_ , Tom mused, _this skill isn’t so useless after all_.

Ah, but first, the quest. It could either result in a chain quest (which was incredibly likely, as it sounded like the beginning to something) _or_ result in increased intimacy with the skeleton NPC. And Tom was sensing that this NPC wasn’t just any ordinary NPC either…if he had been the original holder of the Eyes of Death, and there were very few people who had that opportunity in the first place, then that _meant something_.

The potential material rewards were worth investing in. The potential _information_ he would gain could very well be priceless.

…And it shouldn’t be forgotten either that Tom might’ve stumbled upon a secret class quest!

With all that taken into consideration, Tom stared into the empty sockets of the skull before nodding. He approached, closer this time, in order to observe clearly what he would have to do. The darkness of the cave, his eyes had already adjusted to, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t difficult to see regardless.

There was 206 bones in an adult human body. Obviously, there were _not_ all two hundred and six bones in the pile on the throne—neither were they all disconnected and broken up. Tom could see a hand, fully connected, but the spinal cord for example was in pieces. If this was a matter of piecing together a human skeleton, he could probably do it, but Tom didn’t think that was the full case. That was only part of the quest, if it was a part of it at all.

The skull was silent. In fact, it had appeared to be completely inanimate now. Tom no longer had the feeling that it would suddenly speak to him. Perhaps this was part of it…? Either way, the player carefully moved the skull to the side for later; it was at the very top of the pile, and for some reason starting with the skull didn’t seem to be a very good idea. Whether it was because it had _talked to him_ , that he had seen it move and laugh and _stare_ , and that set it apart from the other bones…well, Tom didn’t know. Didn’t want to think about it, really.

The skull, he felt, was a link to Death. Whether that was ‘Death’ with a capital ‘D’, or ‘death’ with a lowercase ‘d’, was irrelevant. It was a link to the Death that was only capital because it represented _all_ deaths, Death ‘in general’ as it was. The other bones did not give him that same feeling. So Tom went with his gut and focused on the pieces where he could fully concentrate without getting caught up in the figurative and metaphorical and the theoretical; that would be for later.

“Shadow Reader.”

Instantly, Tom could see the difference between his sight with and without the skill activated. The bones that had seemed plain and common in the darkness of the cave lit up with a weak glow. Not white, not black, not grey—simply a glow. The glow was strongest—though not by much—at the ends of the bones, though that in itself was debatable because it fluctuated anyway. One moment it was there, the next it was fading, and then so weak it was practically gone in the next split second.

The left end could light up while the right end could dim. They could both glow together, they could both fade just the same. There was no pattern to the wispy, ebbing mist of the glow, other than that it flowed in a sort of rhyme and reason incomprehensible to that of the living. No, maybe it wasn’t even understood by the dead; like the wonders of the universe, it shifted and flowed to the private, secret beat of nature’s song, and Tom knew that he could not hear it even though he could tell it was there.

Anti-mana. So this was what it was.

Tom looked from the bone he gingerly held in his hand to the pile on the throne. They were all just as weak. He did not know whether it was because his skill level was weak or simply that the undead itself had waned in strength, but he supposed it didn’t matter.

Instinct versus instruction. While some people argued against one and for another, Tom knew that both were equally important. Instruction built instinct. Instinct supported instruction. Because he did not have instruction, Tom trusted the same instinct that had told him to put the skull to the side and focus on the pile beneath it instead. It was the very same instinct that told him of the tempo the anti-mana flowed to, though it was not yet strong enough to tell him exactly what it was.

He was not strong yet. But he _could be_. And this—this quest—this was just the beginning.

Tom’s hand moved on its own. It reached into the pile and extracted another long, curved piece of bone. He observed it momentarily, eyes following both the anti-mana and the physical material itself. It was a rib, he realized. Just one. He looked at his other hand, and recognized that, too.

Femur. A rib, and a femur…

Tom looked back to the pile. It was a _small pile_. There was no way there were two hundred and six bones in there. Not even a hundred.

 _Put me back together again_ , the skull had said.

Tom put both the femur and the rib on the ground, and began to look through the pile diligently without relying on instinct. Instinct had done its part. Now, if only he could confirm it—

 _Put me back together again,_ the skull had said.

Tom would. He organized the pile of bones into the order they fell into in the human skeleton, arranging them in smaller groups in the ground. When he tried to interchange the parts of skeletons still _technically_ alive, they fit in place but didn’t seem to _click_. The individual monsters still controlled their own pieces. Now, Tom knew why.

 _Anti-mana._ While all living things had mana, they also had _anti-mana_ —or at least, a storage for it, which was the shadow only Shadow Reader could see…according to the skull. While everyone had mana, they couldn’t just go around using _other’s_ mana. That was like saying a priest that ran out could borrow an archer’s to cast a healing spell—impossible! And so Tom figured it worked the same way for anti-mana.

An undead was held together by anti-mana. By their _own_ anti-mana. But it didn’t work like glue. Anti-mana _flowed_. In some mysterious motion that Tom was not privy to, anti-mana ebbed and flowed.

It was like listening to an unfamiliar song! Even though he had never heard it before, occasionally he could predict the next note or lyric because there was a pattern! Even if he could not name the pattern. Even if he could not present a formula of the pattern or rhyme, or find a universal law that the song could fit into a snug little box for, sometimes he could predict it. Sometimes.

Tom started with the chest, because that was where the heart was protected. Even if the organ was not there now, it made sense for the physical body’s flow to replicate or complement the spiritual flow. He held the sternum up, approximating it to the place it would be had a person been sitting on the throne. Then, eyes carefully watching the misty apparition of anti-mana, the player waited.

Tom was waiting for the most opportune time! The very second before it was supposed to happen, the moment when he could hear the metaphorical next note in his head—

Then, he placed the only rib of the pile in place. Holding two bones there, it seemed somewhat silly, but when he let go, they floated in place and he knew he was right.

The bones that made up the pile were major bones! One part of each limb. There was one spinal cord in pieces, one sternum, one rib, one hand, one foot, one humerous, so on so forth. Tom started in the middle, because that was where the symmetry began. From the pieces of the spinal cord, he continued to connect pieces, leaving them floating in the air as the anti-mana binded them together, even without the missing bones.

How did he know what piece would come next? How did he know if he skipped one? Tom didn’t know—these questions, in fact, cycled around in his head, but he did not allow them to impede his movements! He was not privy to the answers of these questions because he was not privy to the rhythm behind the flow of anti-mana. He was only a listener; an audience member to nature’s orchestra!

Predict. And if he couldn’t, Tom waited until he could. It was as instinctual as he could get!

Unfortunately, with only 100 mana, it was inevitable that he would run out and Shadow Reader would deactivate. Tom was a third of the way finished when it did. He would have to wait until his mana recovered, and he would have to wait again when it inevitably ran out the next time. Even though it was tedious, Tom did not try to rush. It was a task that required patience, and so patience he would give!

In doing this, Shadow Reader reached level three, and the quest was almost complete.

Now, all Tom had to do was place the skull on top! He waited for his mana to recover once more—just to be sure it didn’t run out while he was waiting—and then carefully bided his time until the single second came when he was absolutely, one hundred percent sure it was right.

He held his breath. Of course he did. And then, Tom let go of the skull.

It bobbed in place for a few seconds until it stabilized, floating fully in the air as there wasn’t a neck it connected to. Then, once everything was perfectly aligned, the places where bones were missing gradually began to fade into existence. The glow of anti-mana strengthened exponentially. Tom tried to reach out and touch a piece that had literally come out of nowhere—it was solid.

**You have completed Reanimate the Undead Quest.**

**“Hmmm! Ah, what it is to be whole again…”** the skeleton said, now fully sitting on the throne. Tom took a step back when it moved, stretching its arms as if it were human and in need of movement lest its limbs grew numb.

Over its head in blood red read the name, ‘(Incomplete) Skeleton King’.

**“You have my thanks.”**

Tom read the system message of the quest reward (some experience was it, really; it was only an F difficulty) with an apathy originating from delayed surprise. He was talking to a Skeleton King. Who also happened to be a boss monster.

A notably higher level boss monster. So much for harmless NPC—

**“And yet we are still not face to face. Tell me, Voldemort, do you still seek the secrets of the dead?”**

“If I am?”

The skull rattled with laughter. **“I can open the path for you,”** the Skeleton King said. One boney hand raised from its rest on the throne’s arm, bones clicking as the fingers waved. **“To be worthy.”**

“The Eyes are not enough?”

**“The Eyes are plenty, but I doubt you would want to exchange them.”**

“Exchange?” Tom asked sharply. _Of course_ , all things came at a price.

The skull laughed again, really only the motion and the clacking of teeth and bone the only identifying factor. **“You are yet living. You may be the holder, but you cannot yet wield. What do you expect you can do with something you cannot yet use? They are keys. You have not found the lock, or the other key, _or_ the ability to turn the key inside the lock! What else can you do but exchange?”**

The player was silent.

 **“To be worthy, you want to be worthy,”** the Skeleton King answered without asking what the question was. **“To be above exchange. To stand above all others—both the living and the dead. Tell me, do you know what power is? Do you know where to find it?”**

“No,” Tom replied, terse and harsh and biting.

**“There are many ways. There are many paths. Few coincide with that of Death. Dying is always at the end, but Death is another matter. But you know that already, don’t you? What you seek is very expensive. What you have is absolutely nothing, other than the Eyes. And the Eyes are worth more than but not enough. However, _I_ can open the path for you…for a price.”**

“You won’t lead me—you’ll only give me a _chance_. Is that right?”

**“I will simply do what I say I will. What you do with it, what it means to you, is entirely _your_ business.”**

“What do you want?”

**“Your soul. Not to own; I won’t exist in this plane or the next long enough to _own_ …but to do as I please. Perhaps then, a better price would be your freedom. Your freedom of choice. You will be what I want you to be; it shall mark your soul forever. It is a fair price; you want me to open the path for you…but that is only possible if the path you take is the one I present. It must be _the only_ path, and so I must take your freedom of choice.”**

“Freedom of choice of _what_?”

The Skeleton King laughed. **“So young, Voldemort. So inexperienced. So _new_. Your freedom of choice is your fate. Your destiny. If you give it to me, I will open the path for you to the Eyes of Life. No, at the _end_ of that path _is_ the Eyes of Life. On the road of that path is becoming he who stands above all others. The Eyes of Life and the Eyes of Death are not meant to coincide. They are keys not meant to be used. If you give me your fate, I will change it—they will be keys that _must_ be used. You will no longer have that choice. You will be bound. You will use them, because you will be unable to do anything else.”**

“Oh? That’s all? That’s fine with me, then,” Tom answered, utterly nonchalant.

**“You give it so freely?”**

“That is the end I desire. If you’re changing it for me, then it’s simply one less thing I’ll have to do by myself.”

**“Well said! Fine. In order for our…transaction to be complete, I cannot take the payment. _You_ must pay _me_.”**

“How?”

**“First, complete me. I am whole, but as the Skeleton King, I am a mere shade of my former self. So long have I lied in wait for he who will hold the eyes that my power has been lost and declined. Bring me three items: my orb, my scepter, and my crown. Only then will I be the Skeleton King.”**

**Power of the Skeleton King Quest**

**_Disconnected from his power, the Skeleton King is unable to complete the promised transaction. Re-establish his rule by bringing him the symbols of his power—his orb, his scepter, and his crown, lost somewhere within Malarum’s swamp region._ **

**Difficulty: D**

**Orb of the Skeleton King** 0 **/1**

 **Scepter of the Skeleton King** 0 **/1**

 **Crown of the Skeleton King** 0 **/1**

***Power of the Skeleton King -- > ??? Chain**

* * *

It was just a game.

That was what Tom told himself to believe…but still—

**_“Are you looking for someone?”_ **

The answer was supposed to be ‘no.’ Tom did not enter the game expecting to see anyone or anything. That was simply the truth of the matter—the nature of his curiosity did not hide any ulterior motives; it was purely focused on the game. The entertainment aspect of _Witches and Wizards_. What else, truly, could he have said other than “no”?

**_“Even so…”_ **

The Skeleton King’s black, empty sockets had sought him then.

**_“Voldemort, you said your name was? How…curious.”_ **

_“What’s curious?”_

**_“Why, your name of course. Stealing from death...how curious it is, to call yourself such an audacious thing on the continent of Death! But it isn’t_ my _business who you’ll steal from. No, I heartily approve—whether it is from the demons of the netherworld, the four Founders themselves, or…_ that one _.”_**

It was just a game. It was just a game. The mantra repeated inside Tom’s head, even as he arrived back in town.

_“…That one?”_

**_“Why, the esteemed_ emperor _, of course. During my time, there was another, but the nature of the emperor of Mortem has always been absolute rule through divine right. And then salutary neglect._ That _hasn’t changed in the least. Do you know, even sitting here estranged from all reaches of society, even I have heard…the mana that reaches every corner of this continent does not lie…do you know? If you’re going to steal from him, you should know.”_**

_“I obviously don’t, if you insist on going on like that. If you plan to tell me,_ tell me _.”_

Just a game. Just a game. Just a game.

**_“The emperor! He sits on his throne in the lost castle of Hogwarts, waiting…waiting…waiting—and for what, no one knows!_ That one _. Albus Wulfric Percival Brian Dumbledore! If you plan to steal from him, you’ll have to find him first!”_**

What in the name of almighty gods was that man thinking? Tom mumbles to himself beneath his breath. He was dead. It was an acknowledged, proven, known _fact_ that Albus Dumbledore was dead. He didn’t even want to call that man a father—‘father’ meant something entirely different to Tom—but the papers and effects he had certainly considered him so, and as such Tom _knew for a fact_ that Albus Dumbledore was dead.

He’d taken care of the funeral himself, after all.

Dead. Dead. Dead.

So what was he doing _here_? No, that in itself was impossible; Dumbledore couldn’t be _here_. But—but it was his _name_. His full, undisputed _name_. Lofty and irritatingly _upper class_ , that thrice bedamned, _three names too many_ name!

It was too sudden. Too abrupt. It opened up wounds that Tom refused to categorize or even believe to have _existed_.

Never mind this. He didn’t want to think about it—not _him_ , _it_ ; it encompassed everything, and _it_ made him feel better for being unnerved with not only the man, but also the circumstances. _Him_ made him feel weak for losing his composure at the fault of a single man—so he wouldn’t.

Tom took all of the thoughts that disturbed him—Albus Dumbledore being number one; number two being the frustratingly high level of artificial intelligence belonging to the NPCs—breaking down his IGN, and then translating it to French? What the bloody hell?—And then number three and everything behind that followed along the same line of thought—and shoved it into the far corner of his mind.

He pushed it away, shoved it into a bottle, and then put in the stopper and threw it out into the metaphorical sea. Hopefully it wouldn’t float back, and if it did, hopefully he would only find it several weeks, preferably _months_ , later.

Right. Back to Malarum. Tom was performing the most common action among fellow RPG players, and that was to take a detour right after getting an incredibly important quest!

…Ha. Well, it wasn’t like he could do much anyway until he emptied his bag full of monster drops! The weight of undead bones wasn’t terribly high, as these were still very weak undead and thus the bones were comparably very small and light (let it not be mentioned how much an undead ogre’s bones weighed, or an undead dragon’s). However, because Tom had accumulated so many of them, they did begin to weigh him down.

He would have to go sell them. It wasn’t much of an issue because Tom planned to sell them to the shop merchant NPC. Not having to sell to players lessened the amount of time he’d take otherwise.

“How much would you give me for this?” Tom asked, taking one of the bones out of his inventory and placing it on the counter.

“Hmm…” the NPC scrutinized it carefully. “Fifteen knuts.”

That was fair. The skeletons had been low level, after all. In _Witches and Wizards_ , the currency system was similar to many Asian RPGs—there were three types of coins, and a certain amount of one coin was equivalent to another coin. In this case, instead of having bronze, silver, and gold, it was knuts, sickles, and galleons. One hundred knuts would equal a sickle, one hundred sickles would equal a galleon.

While this seemed like an incredible amount to new players, it really wasn’t. The higher level a monster was, the more likely they would drop more money. Monsters now only dropped a few sickles or some knuts, but later on they would begin to drop galleons. So the conversion rate—a hundred to one—wasn’t that amazing after all.

Tom was about to confirm the transaction in the message window in front of him, but then he suddenly got an idea. He canceled the window and then promptly told the NPC he would be back before walking out of the shop and settling down in front of it. There weren’t that many players in Malarum, so the fact that there weren’t any around him wasn’t surprising in the least. Tom did not feel the need to seek any privacy.

It was really just a thought. Not much to go on, but a thought. Tom was naturally curious about the things he could not find any information on, after all. He was tempted to log off then and there to look up his newly obtained skill on the forums, but after how the Skeleton King went on and on about it, he figured there would be little to nothing in the public threads.

Thus, unless he wanted to figure out how to get connections to a more private, information based group, he’d have to do all the discovering on his own. _That_ meant finding out what his boundaries were, just like with the skeletons.

He could read skill descriptions. That didn’t exactly tell him to what extent the Shadow Reader skill _saw_. He knew what he experienced in the cave—but that was, naturally, for a quest. Would he see the same things otherwise? Tom didn’t know. He wanted to find out.

Anti-mana. Because he was in the realm of the living, Tom did not expect to see much of it. The concept of “shadows” did interest him however, because based on the information he’d previously gotten from the Skeleton King, he _should_ be seeing them hanging around.

That would require a person though—the question of, ‘does it matter if it’s an NPC or a player?’ rang in his mind, but he ignored it temporarily—and a person he didn’t conveniently have. Besides, that wasn’t his goal as of yet, and Tom felt he should thoroughly explore his _first_ thought before jumping into another.

If it wasn’t obvious, Tom was planning to use his Shadow Reader skill! The only thing he had that was technically ‘dead’ though were the bones he’d harvested as drops from the skeletons. Thus, he pulled one out from his inventory and held it in his hand.

**Skeleton Bone**

**_A bone from a weak undead skeleton. It isn’t worth much._ **

Before activating Shadow Reader, however, Tom noticed something he had not seen before in the dim light of the cave. When he had pulled a bone out to show to the shop merchant, he had also not been looking very carefully. But now that he focused and put his attention on the bone in his hand, Tom could now see that it was colored in a light, ebbing pale luster that reminded him of the moon.

That…obviously wasn’t natural. Or realistic. Bones didn’t _shine_.

Odd. He didn’t recall seeing _that_ in the cave…shouldn’t it have been amplified in the darkness? But then again, it wasn’t exactly _shiny_ in the same way glow sticks or glitter or something equally gaudy was—and the shade wasn’t the same white as sun-bleached bone either. In conclusion, Tom had no idea how to describe the strange appearance, but perhaps…

“Shadow Reader.”

Perhaps he could if it was seen with ‘different eyes’.

Instantly his sight lit up. There was the glow of anti-mana, but it did not look like when he had put together the Skeleton King. Instead, it was a murky sort of glow—like cloudy wisps of smoke fading in and out, stuck in between the gradient of grey and black. Tom could see the eerie pale luster beneath it all, a perfect back drop to the opposing glow.

He ran a finger across it, and instead of blowing away like smoke, it moved like viscous sludge. In one way Tom was surprised it moved at all—somehow, the knowledge that he could only see it with his skill made him think it existed in some alternate dimension, and he shouldn’t be able to affect it with touch. Apparently that was wrong.

He moved his fingers in a pinching motion, as if to draw the anti-mana out of one reality into his.

**You have successfully absorbed the anti-mana of the bones.**

**Shadow Reader has gained a significant amount of proficiency.**

Tom stiffened. Ignoring the messages for now, he looked at the bone again without his Sight. Where there used to be a pale luster was gone. Now it was just a normal, yellowed bone, old and indiscriminate. And no matter what angle he looked at it from, it remained the same. The sheen it once had was completely gone.

To make sure he wasn’t just seeing things, Tom pulled out another bone from his inventory in order to compare. It proved that he wasn’t just imagining things—the bone was _genuinely different_ now.

“Psst.”

The player turned his head. There, leaning against one of the walls of a hut, stood a male NPC. There was an old raggedy cloth tied about his head, acting like a bandana, and his clothes appeared to be in no better shape. The only reason Tom didn’t think he was a beggar was the way he held himself—confident, but sly. In no way was this man someone who had lost himself to desperation and resignation.

“Hey. You’ve got good eyes,” the NPC whispered, leaning over. “Keen. And you’ve got the focus to use them. How about I teach you something good? After all, talent must be nurtured!”

“…I’m listening.”

The NPC grinned. “I’ll teach it to you, then! It’s a skill _all_ top tier adventurers have to know! The Observe skill! Listen up good, yeah? I’ll only tell it to ya once!”

“…Hm.”

 _How convenient_ , Tom thought.

**You have learned a new skill.**

* * *

It came down to a matter of money, or experience.

Tom had went back to the shop, asking for an appraisal of the (now anti-mana-less) bone. What was once fifteen knuts became a measly one! One knut! Even monsters gave more than _that_!

**Bone**

**_A really old human bone._ **

So, he couldn’t have both. Either he sold the undead bones for fifteen knuts a piece, or he sucked them dry of all anti-mana and sold them at _one_ knut a piece. Decisions, decisions…

Well, in the end, it was rather obvious to Tom. Experience would always be best! Money was secondary. There were a lot of ways to earn money, and if he was truly desperate he’d just go kill more skeletons. Experience, however, was more difficult to get—specifically, _skill_ experience. He’d rather he have a stronger Shadow Reader than a few sickles in his pocket any day.

So, Tom proceeded to absorb the anti-mana from all his undead loot. It was enough to barely get him to beginner level 5! He hypothesized that the stronger the undead the bones came from, the more experience it would give him, but he didn’t have any real proof to back it up. All he knew was that the stronger the undead, the stronger the anti-mana.

**Shadow Reader Beginner Level 5 (2%): Allows you to recognize the presence of anti-mana, as well as see the shadows of the soul belonging to the living.**

**You can absorb the anti-mana from objects associated with the undead. This anti-mana will increase the strength of your shadow.**

**At the beginner level, mana will be consumed per second for the duration you have your sight active. However, certain events may trigger Shadow Reader to be activated without your command.**

The new description was odd. Increase the strength of his shadow? Tom had turned around to check. His shadow was still firmly on the ground. Logically, that was sound—a shadow was, after all, cast because of light. How could it grow in strength?

…No, perhaps that wasn’t the ‘shadow’ they were referencing? Not shadows of the physical realm, but shadows cast ‘of the soul’…

“Shadow Reader.”

For a second, Tom saw nothing. Then, he turned around again, squinting, and then slowly saw _it_ come to life.

It was as if his eyes were too weak to see it. The image was blurry—not fading in and out of existence, just blurry. It was either that the presence was too weak to see or his ‘Eyes’ weren’t strong enough yet—but he could still make out the vague form.

Tall. It was about as tall as him. Humanoid, as it stood on two legs and had two arms and a head. But as its head was round, Tom assumed it was hairless. He didn’t know, as it was all a black shape to him. There was no shading, no definition really other than that it was three dimensional. The only reason he knew it was wearing some sort of robe with sleeves was because he could not see the more natural outlines of its body.

It, Tom thought, but his instinct said _he_.

Tom raised a hand. He reached out for it— _him_ —but then it stepped back out of range. It did not want him to touch it, for whatever the reason; certainly it was a shadow, and yet it did not move like a mirror to him.

 _Shadow of his soul_. Perhaps that was it. Souls were a strange, vague idea to Tom. He knew of all the different ways religion defined it, but not which one the game decided to follow.

 _It_ shook its head. _No_ , it seemed to say when Tom thought about trying to touch it again. _Not good. Not allowed. Can’t. Bad things will happen._

Slowly, Tom nodded. Fine then.

...If it was sentient, did that mean he could command it? Would it even listen?

Tom looked around. “Go there,” the player said, pointing.

Surprisingly, it moved.

 _No commands._ It wasn’t a thought, it was an instinctual feeling inside of him. He didn’t need to give commands to it. _It_ was not another being. _It_ was part of him. _No commands._ It did not think in terms of ‘me’ or ‘you’; perhaps did not think at all.

Tom looked at another spot. About two meters away from where the shadow stood now.

It moved again.

**You have learned a new skill.**

**_All living beings possess shadows cast by the soul, placeholders and balances to their mana. The more powerful their innate mana is, the more prominent the shadow. As they are not reflections of the physical body, but of the soul, shadows come in all sizes and forms. It has been thought since ancient times that the shadows reveal the true form of a soul._ **

**Hand of Death Beginner Level 1 (0%): You can control your shadow. The stronger the shadow, the more defined it is and the easier it is to control.**

**As it is an unstudied art, shadow manipulation may have various side-effects later on.**

**Shadow Reader does not have to be activated in order to control your shadow.**

**Current Shadow Level: 1**

* * *

_Wait…didn’t I get a title as well from the Skeleton King?_

Tom blinked, pausing only a moment before calling up his stats.

**Title: Holder of the Eyes of Death**

**[??? Tier]**

**???????????????**

***Information about this title is locked.**

***Wearing this title while locked will not give you any stat bonuses.**

Tom hoped the Skeleton King would come back to life again so he could kill him.

* * *

**Name: Voldemort ~ Level: 20**

**Faction: Slytherin ~ Class: None**

**Title: Holder of the Eyes of Death ~ Fame: 0**

**Health: 700 ~ Mana: 100**

**Strength: 11 ~ Stamina: 11**

**Intellect: 11 ~ Wisdom: 11**

**Luck: 10 ~ Agility: 10 (+1)**

**Taint of the Dead: 10**

**Attack: 0 (+3) ~ Defense: 0 (+4)**

**Fullness: 62 ~ Fatigue: 33**

**Current Skills: Undead Mastery (Beg. lv 5), Shadow Reader (Beg. lv 5), Observe (Beg. Lv 1), Hand of Death (Beg. Lv 1)**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol Tom you poor thing hahahahahahaa
> 
> in other news aren't I productive lately???? A trashy oneshot and a new chapter for Equilibrium, which I shouldn't even be really focusing on because I still have to finish a lot of other things (UDDUP I'm looking at you even though you make me sad).
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy this treat anyway n_nb


	8. Entry VIII: Fledgling Lord

_Be careful_ _what you wish for._

Tom cursed, wishing he paid a bit more attention to the saying. It was futile, of course—things would've ended up this way anyway—but at least it would've made him feel a bit better.

The burst of dark magic came at him again, and he narrowly managed to dodge it before the _click-clack_ of bones made him move again.

Well, the Skeleton King had sure come back to life, alright. _And_ it had regained its power, _and_ was practically unkillable at _level 999_ , _and_ Tom’s quest was to defeat it. There was nothing remotely alright with this situation. Maybe he should've forfeited while he was still ahead. He’d gotten a skill and a title out of it, what more did he need from this quest chain?

Unfortunately, this was a battle he couldn't flee from.

The quest to obtain the three items—orb, scepter, and crown—was a relatively easy one. He'd found the crown in a shady pawnshop, the orb in the small town library, and the scepter inside the King Slime boss. Some maneuvering had gotten him _that_ without having to beat the thing, which was nice because the King Slime had the troublesome ability of vomiting more minions to protect himself with.

It hadn't been something Tom had wanted to deal with head on.

After returning to the cave and handing over the three items, the Skeleton King had fixed himself and then declared that if Tom wanted to leave alive, he’d defeat him in a duel—completely unfair as previously mentioned, since the Skeleton King spawned as a level 999 boss. Tom had then tried logging out, only to log back in to the same situation. He was stuck, unless he wanted to die again.

Dying didn't seem all too bad of an escape route, since he really didn't have anything to lose, but the quest dialogue that had popped up deterred him from that option.

**Test of the Undead Ruler**

**_After reviving the Skeleton King, he has now challenged you to a duel. The result of this duel will decide your fate. If you die, you lose the duel._ **

**Difficulty: E**

**(Complete) Skeleton King** 0 **/1**

***You cannot forfeit the duel.**

***Losing the duel will result in the loss of your skill, Shadow Reader, and all skills associated with it.**

***Power of the Skeleton King -- > Test of the Undead Ruler -->??? chain**

Tom was _not_ going to lose all of his progress just because of one stupid boss battle. He wasn't. But it was impossible to defeat the Skeleton King! At level 999, any and all of his attacks did no damage, and on top of that, Tom still had unused stat points! He hadn't used them for 19 levels. Thus, the amount of points he had lying around was a whopping 95!

But even if he used them, it would make little difference. The Skeleton King was simply too strong. All Tom had in terms of skills useful in combat was (though indirectly so) Shadow Reader and Hand of Death. Undead Mastery was a passive skill.

Logically speaking, quests weren't made to be impossible. There _should_ be some sort of trick to this duel—but things were looking fairly grim. With such a heavy punishment, simply losing the duel wasn't the correct way out either. So what was it…?

Where was this quest trying to lead him…?

There was a pattern in the Skeleton King’s movement—he was a boss monster, after all. He only had a pre-set amount of attacks, and those attacks split into three groups. One, offense—a slow, barreling blow that would definitely knock him out if he got hit. It was easy to dodge. Two, defense—whenever Tom got near, there would be a whirlwind of dark magic to blow him back. Three, barrage—a pattern of offensive moves that had four main attacks before the Skeleton King was forced to stop and recharge.

His defensive programming meant Tom was not meant to engage in melee combat—thank the gods for that. His offensive programming meant Tom actually had a chance at winning—something so easy to dodge was unforgiving to those who didn't try, but was relatively easy still to play around for a newbie.

In conclusion, the space to attack was right after the third form—the barrage attack, when the boss was unable to move! This was a common pattern in other games, not that Tom knew that. There would be a space in time for players to deal damage. The problem was that the pause was still not long enough to engage in melee combat. Never mind the fact that he couldn’t inflict damage, after one or two attacks, the Skeleton King would begin moving again and hence would follow with a defensive maneuver.

At this level, Tom didn't have a long range attack. So what could he do…?

Wait. Perhaps he _did_ have one.

His mana pool was not very large, so Tom knew he had to conserve it. That was why he did not attempt using Shadow Reader earlier when he was still unaware of the patterns he would face. Now, it was relatively safer. Just in case, Tom waited until the Skeleton King finished his barrage and froze.

“Shadow Reader.”

The change in his view was massive. Tom squinted, trying to abate the overwhelming glow coming from the Skeleton King. The anti-mana was centered mostly on the three objects—orb, scepter, and crown—that he’d previously tried to observe. It hadn’t worked; his previous attempts at reading them had given him a message to the tune of “A mysterious aura you cannot comprehend surrounds these items.”

Now they lit up brilliantly, nodes of muted light within the darkness. Something shifted behind the Skeleton King then, only visible because it was a blot of black interrupting the glow.

Tom began to move around to get a better look. When he could see the Skeleton King in profile, he turned his eyes to behind and above the crown. There, floating atop the spikes, wilting and small, was a wisp of some formless, black creature.

A shadow.

 _That_ was the Skeleton King’s shadow? Impossible! A shadow was supposed to represent the soul—nothing so weak as _that_ could possibly rule over the undead. Tom frowned. This didn’t make sense.

He tried to get a bit closer; moving into a range he knew wouldn’t trigger the defensive whirlwind of black magic.

Now, close enough, Tom could make out words floating above the tiny, tattered shadow.

**Skeleton King’s Shadow**

**Level 1**

What? Level _one_? Tom focused again, and a small window appeared in front of him as if he had used the Observe skill.

**Skeleton King’s Shadow**

**Level 1**

**The shadow of the Skeleton King. It is weak and ebbing without the presence of mana.**

_Without the presence of mana_. That made more sense. Undead creatures didn’t have much mana, because mana was the life force of _living beings_. As undead, their life force was anti-mana! The shadow only existed to balance mana, not anti-mana—so it must be that the Skeleton King’s ‘soul’ was, for the most part, already in the netherworld, or wherever souls went to after death.

Undead clung to the realm of the living. The more intelligent—or aware—the undead, the more (Tom hypothesized) _soul_ they were able to anchor. The problem was that the Skeleton King had already existed for so long, he lost grip on most of his soul—the power he had now was from the three items which he requested Tom to find.

They must have special effects of their own—perhaps so powerful that they could not be identified so easily through inspection!

Then, if shadows reflected the soul, then what was done to the shadow would affect the soul, right? And if that was the case, then if he destroyed the shadow, he would rip the soul’s presence from the realm of the living. However, Tom could not get close, and the shadow did not move.

Tom turned his head. His own shadow was standing beside him, not too close but not too far away, as if it were waiting for him. Its near formless shape was a degree better than the Skeleton King’s, but it was obviously still very weak.

Tom scowled, deactivated his sight, and decided to wait until the next recharge time. The Skeleton King swung again, dark magic flowing out from the scepter directly toward him. It was a slow warning sign though, so by maneuvering into a different spot, Tom cleanly dodged it.

The motion repeated several times until finally the boss used its barrage. Tom did not waste more time.

“Shadow Reader. Hand of Death!”

The description said he could use the latter skill without his Shadow Reader, but it was a fact that Tom could not see his own shadow without it. To use it, he’d rather have the visual advantage than using it blind. He wasn’t quite prepared for that yet.

Tom turned to his shadow. He didn’t need to verbally command it, but it was still too uncomfortable commanding it only with his thoughts. When he last did so, its movements were sluggish, mirroring his doubt and hesitance.

“Go attack it,” he commanded. Reacting to his firm tone, his shadow moved. The Skeleton King did not react to its approach.

Tom’s shadow reached out, long, blotted hands cutting through the anti-mana’s glow before closing in on the Skeleton King’s shadow. It closed its hand about the rounded head, squeezed, and the tattered pieces dissipated into nothingness.

**Hand of Death has leveled up.**

**Undead Mastery has leveled up.**

At the same time, the Skeleton King’s body that Tom had so painstakingly put together collapsed again.

**Test of the Undead Ruler Quest completed!**

_“So you are…”_ the Skeleton King’s voice whispered, “ _So you are fit indeed! Yes…I see…you will be great. Great, but terrible…! I will give you that destiny, yes…And the Eyes of Life will make a suitable match for you…”_

“I thought we established my ‘potential’ before.”

The Skeleton King laughed—as much as it could, anyway. _“But that was for the_ eyes _. This, my heir, is for something quite different—though perhaps not exclusive.”_

Tom stiffened. _Heir_?

“ _In life, I once ruled over all three states of being—living, undead, and dead. Through fear, through power, through sheer will! Upon my death, my realm shrunk to but the dead. Now, I gift this position to_ you _. May you rule in terror,_ he who stands— _my heir!”_

**Inheritance of the Necromancer Lord Quest**

**_The Skeleton King was, in life, ruler of the three states of being—living, undead, and dead. He was the Necromancer Lord, who terrified the living, controlled the undead, and commanded the dead! He now accepts you as his heir. It is your choice now—will you be ruler of none, ruler of all, or not a ruler at all—instead, the terror that sweeps the land! Harbinger of plague, pestilence, famine, or the gatekeeper between one realm and the next?_ **

**_Whichever path you choose, it will surely lead to greatness._ **

**Difficulty: ???**

**Job advance to Necromancer Lord**

**Assert rule over the skeletons of Malarum**

**Skeleton** 0 **/1000**

 **Skeleton Commander** 0 **/1**

 **Skeleton Chief** 0 **/1**

 **Skeleton Warlock** 0 **/1**

**Requirements: Unlock quest chain Power of the Skeleton King, Earn the favor of the Skeleton King**

***Power of the…King -- > Test of the…Ruler --> Inheritance of the Necromancer Lord**

Tom blinked. The second he closed the window, another popped up.

**Job Advancement: Necromancer Lord**

**Controlling and summoning legions of undead armies as well as his fellow kin, the Necromancer Lord prospers on all battlefronts. Unlike a Necromancer, who can only call the magic of death to the realm of the living, the Necromancer Lord rules from the line between the living and the dead. If the player is able tothrive upon the tightrope of realms, he or she will find the pinnacle of power awaiting them.**

**You are now able to job advance to Necromancer Lord. This is an independent, one time offer. Accepting will replace whichever class you have now. Accept?**

It was as he had slowly began to expect. A secret class job advancement route! But not to become a necromancer—no, to become something _greater_ than that! A necromancer lord! Tom had _no idea_ what that was—or the extent of the differences between the two classes; from the description it seemed a higher risk for a higher reward sort of thing—but it sounded right up his alley.

There were a lot of things he could think about. There were a lot of things he could consider—his research on necromancers should still apply—but Tom didn’t need to.

His decision would be the same. This class seemed tailor made for him, after all.

Upon pressing “Accept”, the three items he had collected—orb, scepter, and crown—floated toward his chest and were absorbed.

**You have absorbed the anti-mana of the Skeleton King’s regalia.**

**Maximum Health +1000**

**Maximum Mana +5000**

**Wisdom +100**

**Intelligence +50**

**Taint of the Dead +100**

**Mana Recovery +200%**

**Magic Resistance +50%**

**Fame -100**

**Shadow Reader has leveled up.**

**Shadow Reader has leveled up.**

**Undead Mastery has leveled up.**

**…**

**Undead Mastery has leveled up.**

**Gained title: “Servant of Death”**

**You feel fully revitalized.**

_“We shall see what great and terrible things you will do, Voldemort…he who is the weakest of those who have sought my eyes. Let my favor not be taken for granted.”_

**The skeletons of Bone Lake no longer have a ruler. Assert your rule over the skeletons to exit.**

**If you fall to the skeletons, your job advancement, and associating skills and stat increases will be revoked.**

_This again—_ Tom had no time to fully digest the amount of information that had just been thrown at him. The fight with the Skeleton King had taken place at a small cavern across the lake; now as he looked across the water he could see all the skeletons begin to rise and turn their heads toward him. Some boney hands were already struggling to get on land.

_Assert my rule—how am I supposed to do that?_

Well, throughout history, there really was only one answer.

Tom opened his stat window and quickly spent his unused points. Then he turned back toward the mob.

He needed to raise his skill level anyway.

* * *

…

**Name: Voldemort ~ Level: 35**

**Faction: Slytherin ~ Class: Necromancer Lord**

**Title: Holder of the Eyes of Death ~ Fame: -100**

**Health: 2730 ~ Mana: 9800**

**Strength: 11 ~ Stamina: 30**

**Intellect: 207 ~ Wisdom: 160**

**Luck: 15 ~ Agility: 14 (+1)**

**Taint of the Dead: 130**

**Attack: 0 (+3) ~ Defense: 0 (+4)**

**Fullness: 5 ~ Fatigue: 97**

**Magic Resistance +50%**

**Current Skills: Undead Mastery (Inter. lv 1), Shadow Reader (Inter. lv 1), Observe (Beg. lv 2), Hand of Death (Beg. lv 8)**

…

**Inheritance of the Necromancer Lord Quest completed!**

**You have learned a new skill.**

**You have learned a new skill.**

…

* * *

One thousand skeletons, three mini bosses, fifteen levels and several aching body parts (several _hours_ ) later, Tom barely managed to drag himself back to Malarum before collapsing.

Before _that_ , he’d thought the quest chain had been relatively easy. It had just involved a lot of talking, honestly. Now? He’d never been so exhausted in his _life_.

But before logging off, he needed to get some semblance of food otherwise he’d die the second he logged on again. Too tired to grumble, he got back onto his feet again, limping his way to the town restaurant by leaning on the walls of the building for his support.

“Food. Water. _Now_. I can pay,” he rasped. The NPC waitress, too frightened of his appearance to really deny him, immediately ran to get the requested things. Tom honestly thought he was going to die waiting for it.

All of his equipment’s durability was in shreds. Beginner clothing was _specifically_ made to last a long time, just in case newbies couldn’t easily find their next set—their next sets had comparatively low durability—but Tom had used them until they were in tatters. Thankfully he’d gotten a fair amount of loot to sell to replace everything.

He never wanted to end up in that situation again. A future note to himself: always bring more provisions than you think you’ll need.

After raising up his fullness back to 100, Tom leaned back and sighed against the uncomfortable wooden chair. His fatigue was still high—90—which made his muscles ache and his legs feel like blocks of lead. It was a horrid feeling. He wondered if there were any skills that would decrease fatigue. Certainly there was stamina, but as a mage he shouldn’t be using his precious stat points for that…

Maybe there was an item. He’d look into it later.

Tom turned his head. Once he had gained Intermediate Level Shadow Reader, his eyes could see bits and pieces of anti-mana even when his sight wasn’t activated. This had the fortunate (or unfortunate) side effect of seeing his shadow all the time now.

It had been useful for battle—once he’d run out of mana, he could still see and command it—but it was also slightly…disturbing.

Now level ten, the near formless mass of inky black was becoming more defined. He could see the shades and folds of the robe it wore, though the face and skin was still indeterminate. While fighting, he figured there was a ‘range’ it could go to away from him. He could not send it anywhere past his possible range of vision, but in some ways it could _extend_ his.

It was like having a set of “eyes” in any blind spot he chose. The image it gave him in his mind was still murky, but at least it could tell whether or not there were monsters lurking around the corner or behind him.

His shadow seemed to have no defined stamina or stats, only a visible numerical level. Its strength was based on his own ability. Though it used its bare hands to claw and pierce and strangle, there was a level of… _wrongness_ to it that made Tom aware of the fact that his shadow was uncomfortable with hand-to-hand combat.

Little things, like the shadows of the skeletons, were fine because there was no technique in clawing something or slapping it with a hand. But he figured if it were to actually _fight_ , it would be at a severe disadvantage.

This, of course, raised the question of what weapon his shadow would use? What weapons _could_ shadows use? Did they simply appear once he got it to a high enough level, or did he have to hunt for one?

The latter was almost out of the question. His shadow avoided not only contact with _him_ , but also the loot that had littered the ground. Nothing impeded it, but it seemed to ghost around the items anyway—specifically the weapon and armor drops. The bones were alright—Tom hypothesized it was because those were covered in anti-mana—but everything else it avoided like an obstacle course.

He could not speak to it. He did not know whether or not it had a personality, or was simply reacting to his own thoughts and opinions. Its movement was independent when he wasn’t focused on it, but once he was, it moved to answer his will.

Generally, he gave verbal commands because that was what he was comfortable with. Tom was aware, though, that his voice was not necessary to call his shadow to action.

“The waitress who brought me my food,” he murmured, voice low enough so the other few players around could not hear. “Where is she?”

The shadow lifted up one hand and pointed. She was serving another table and seemed dead set on refusing to look at him.

Hm. Whatever. It was certainly a new experience, but not an unpleasant one. Pulling a few coins out of his inventory, Tom left them in a messy pile on the part of the table not occupied by an empty plate. He then drank the rest of his water, stood, and tried to leave with as much dignity as he could muster.

He noticed he could not see other shadows unless he activated his sight. Perhaps that would change with a few levels and time.

* * *

It wasn’t good to stay in town for very long. Now that he was a necromancer, it was of great importance to keep his Taint of the Dead stat up—and that meant avoiding crowds. Well, that suited Tom just fine anyhow.

Before anything else could be done, Tom headed to the Equipment Shop. He bought himself a pair of—overpriced—basic black robes, a pair of shoes, and some gloves. Because he was a mage now, he wouldn’t need his broken dagger, so he sold that too for a knut. The rest of his newbie clothing was also sold off in the same manner as he exchanged his equips.

The loot he had collected also sold for a pretty penny—several swords of varying quality, two basic shields, three chainmails, many tops and bottoms of leather armor, low quality boots, and low durability gloves were all sold to the NPC. There were things he could’ve worn instead of bought included in there—and a general rule of thumb was to wear drops instead of buy from NPCs—but the issue with most of it was that they had low durability and weren’t worth repairing.

Tom kept the three rings and necklace he’d gotten, as well as a wooden staff.

**Name: Voldemort ~ Level: 35**

**Faction: Slytherin ~ Class: Necromancer Lord**

**Title: Holder of the Eyes of Death ~ Fame: -100**

**Health: 2730 ~ Mana: 9800 (+30)**

**Strength: 11 ~ Stamina: 30**

**Intellect: 207 (+3) ~ Wisdom: 160 (+2)**

**Luck: 15 (+1) ~ Agility: 14 (+2)**

**Taint of the Dead: 130**

**Attack: 0 ~ Defense: 0 (+3)**

**Fullness: 100 ~ Fatigue: 85**

**Magic Resistance +50%**

The rings gave one INT, ten MP each, and the necklace gave one LUK and two WIS. Not anything amazing compared to his ridiculous stat gains, but Tom hardly wanted to compare apples to oranges. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the power curve he was playing on was all messed up because of the odd job advancement route he’d taken.

The staff he kept in his inventory. He knew mages usually used wands or staves, but he wasn’t sure that still applied to his strange class. It was something he planned to try looking up, _if_ he could find anything.

After quickly dealing with that, Tom headed to the General Store. There, he bought a decent amount of food and potions and sold the other monster drops he’d gotten. The bones were already dry of all anti-mana, so those were sold for a knut each.

He noticed that the NPCs he dealt with were reluctant to do business with him. Still, he brought in bulk goods, so the trade was accepted anyway. Tom frowned.

“Where can I find the mage instructor?” he asked.

The NPC glared at him, keeping a distance surpassing the counter between them. Still, he slowly answered, “North of center square, the hut with the two crossing staves.”

“Hm. Thanks.”

He figured it was due to his low— _negative_ —fame. _That_ was troublesome, since he was still a new player, but it couldn’t be helped. Spending time around the undead on top of receiving his new class was not something the NPCs would honor him for—more on the contrary. No wonder the Skeleton King had said he’d do “terrible” things! It would be difficult to do any amount of good at all with what how everyone hated him on sight.

Well, Tom would figure _something_ out. For now…

Maybe the magic instructor would give him some information about his new class.

* * *

“Y-You! I see…”

In retrospect, Tom was getting tired with all the references to sight, eyes, and vision. This one was probably not on purpose, but it still annoyed him enough to make him glare.

The magic instructor took a step back. “I knew there would be one,” the old woman murmured. “It’s been too long since the last one. I knew another would come. This town is cursed after all, _cursed_!”

“I doubt that,” Tom said dryly.

Her head snapped back up to attention. “What have you come here for?!”

“Information. You seem to know a lot about… _my kind_ ,” he said. It was best to be vague and try to get as much hints as he could out of the panicked NPC. On one hand he felt guilty, on the other—ha, who was he kidding. Tom didn’t feel bad at all manipulating the old woman.

 _She_ was the one who was rude first. Besides, it was rather novel—in real life, he was usually the first one served, and eagerly so. Now? No one _wanted_ to serve him. It was quite fascinating.

“This town practically _breeds them_. Of course I know! Why, if the Institute didn’t pay me for this, I’d be _out of here!_ Like I want to deal with _your_ lot…troublesome bunch you are. I don’t understand why they won’t just destroy this whole town! It’ll taint every good soul that steps in here one day…mark my words it will!”

“And what was the last bit of trouble _my kind_ … _stirred_ up here?”

The NPC was practically spitting flames now, but she wouldn’t get within two meters of Tom so he considered himself safe from assault. “You’ll do it too, I know! Running around, shouting “Hail the Skeleton King! Hail the King of the Dead!” all along the streets! Each and every one of them leave with their slimy trail of tainted magic, the scent of death and decay clinging to their clothes like they’ve _bathed_ in it! Do you know how long it takes to clean that up? To purify it in this dirty old beaten town? Weeks! And _I_ have to do it! And you’ll make me do it again, too, won’t you? Worshiping your devil king!”

“I bow to no one,” Tom stated, voice like ice. “Certainly not to a long gone king. He was past his time.”

The old woman opened her mouth as if to mock or refute him, but then paused. A suspicious gleam overtook her eyes. “Past his time, you say?” she muttered.

“I suppose it’s been awhile since the last of my kind have woken here,” Tom began. “So they wouldn’t know what happened. Hm. A shame.”

“You—death whisperer!” she hissed. “Skeleton chanter! Grave walker! I _know_ …I _know_! The undead don’t simply _disappear_! They don’t _fade_! They can only be _destroyed_ …Don’t you go around spreading your lies and false hope, only to waltz in with your own army and bathe the rooftops in blood! In fact, if you _do_ destroy this town, maybe it’ll be for the best—then more of you can’t spring up!”

“Hmm… _More_ necromancer lords? How troublesome.”

Upon hearing the word, the NPC slammed the table, rattling the potion bottles and shelves nearby. “Don’t say it! _Don’t_ —wait…what did you say?”

“Hm? Well, you’ve already asked me so _politely_ not to say it, I daresay I shant repeat it—”

“No, no,” the woman murmured, breath quickening, “What? _What?_ What did you just say…? N-Necro…mancer…L-L-L—”

“I didn’t say a thing.”

“No!” she cried, bumping into a table corner in her haste to move around the counter, “No! You said it! I _heard_! Did you…say…”

Tom smiled. It wasn’t a particularly pretty smile. “I don’t know what I said. Perhaps you can remind me. Who were the people who came before me?”

This time, there was no hesitance in the NPC’s reply. “Necromancers,” she whispered, harsh and hurried. “They came like you, seeking information. I had none to give them, worthless lot that they were.”

“Worthless?”

Her face scrunched up, as if she was about to tell him to leave, but then upon remembering the juicy bit of information he was dangling before her, her face fell again and she rushed through her answer. “Necromancers! They’re a troublesome lot, but they mostly roam on their own. They cause trouble, but their trouble is the _troublesome_ type, not the _deadly_ sort. Well, all the necromancers who’ve come through _here_ , that is. They weren’t particularly strong. I—I’m here to stop them. Their trouble. That’s my job. But—if you say—there’s a _lord_ …”

“I’m unsure what I said,” Tom repeated. “So if they weren’t so worthless, you’d have information for them?”

The mage instructor glared then, backing up behind her counter once more. Her small stout body made a funny sight in its speed, but her stare was nasty enough that no one would laugh. “ _None_ ,” she spat.

“What a shame,” Tom said. He shrugged, turned around, and left the shop in a wave of black cloth. The door slammed behind him, not of his own force.

He only turned his head once he was on the outskirts of town. “Well?” he asked his shadow.

Wordlessly, his shadow pulled from its own black robes an old tome. Prior to entering the shop, Tom had verbally commanded it to find anything covered in anti-mana and take it. It was somewhat of a risk—he was unsure whether or not the magic instructor would have any alarms on her shop for theft, and if there were any if his shadow would bypass them—but it seemed it paid off.

Perhaps the reason why was in such a small town as this, who would be powerful enough to steal from the _magic instructor_?

Then again…Tom considered it. He didn’t know the structure of the alarms, if there were any, or how they worked. It was _possible_ that the second he touched it, it would register as theft—currently, his shadow holding the book did not count as ownership and he could not put it into his inventory from his shadow’s possession—and so he would be chased after.

As much as he _wanted_ to look at the book…it was better to wait until he got to the next town.

“Hold onto it for now,” Tom commanded. “Protect it.”

Wordlessly, his shadow returned the book to its robe pocket.

Did he have any apprehensive feelings about stealing? Tom considered it. After observing the aversions the NPCs showed him, he had already figured that if the mage instructor had information or something worth selling to him, she would not do it. NPCs did not like doing business with someone infamous, or with low fame, as it meant he wasn’t trustworthy. In that case, the only possible way he had of getting what he wanted was through theft.

Before entering her shop, Tom had already figured this out and accepted it!

It was not, he knew, that he approved of stealing or encouraged practice of it. However, on the other hand, he also knew that his opinion of it wasn’t strong, and was more of a guideline than anything. Tom was against stealing on a _regular basis_ —stealing went against trade, and making trade difficult was also making everything _else_ difficult.

There was no reason to steal, in Tom’s opinion, if trade was possible. If trade was _not_ possible, and he _could_ steal…

Well, he would. In game, of course. There was no reason to apply this logic to real life. Purchasing groceries did not require a good reputation, and reputation could not be seen or felt in numerical values in real life.

That matter aside, it would be troublesome to use his shadow to fight _too much_ while it was carrying the book. He had no idea if it would have a negative effect on it, and he did not want to find out about that in a bad situation. The quest truly had opened up new venues of thought for him about the game. Tom definitely did _not_ want to be caught unawares, or stuck in such a life-or-death matter again. So, planning was important.

Then, he should check his new skills before heading out. He also recalled he’d gained some sort of title before the whole mess with the skeletons…

**Title: Servant of Death**

**[Basic Tier]**

**A title gained by a player who has job advanced to the Necromancer class and learned a necromancer skill.**

**Mana Recovery +20MP/10sec**

**Maximum Mana +100**

**Maximum Health +50**

**Intelligence +5**

Not bad. Considering that Tom’s current title was locked and so didn’t give him any stat bonuses, it was much better. A few taps changed his title accordingly.

**Name: Voldemort ~ Level: 35**

**Faction: Slytherin ~ Class: Necromancer Lord**

**Title: Servant of Death ~ Fame: -100**

**Health: 2730 (+50) ~ Mana: 9800 (+130)**

**Strength: 11 ~ Stamina: 30**

**Intellect: 207 (+8) ~ Wisdom: 160 (+2)**

**Luck: 17 (+1) ~ Agility: 20 (+2)**

**Charisma: 5**

**Taint of the Dead: 130**

**Attack: 0 ~ Defense: 0 (+3)**

**Fullness: 100 ~ Fatigue: 85**

**Magic Resistance +50%**

As for his new skills…

**Raise Undead Beginner Level 1 (0%): A spell to animate the corpses of slain monsters.**

**These are rudimentary undead with no intelligence. You must command your undead through verbal commands.Strength of the undead is boosted by skill level of Undead Mastery.**

**Monsters must be within ten levels of your own. Mana will be required to raise undead, but not to keep active. When an undead is slain, mana is required to reanimate the corpse. When an undead takes damage, mana is consumed.**

**At the beginner level, only monsters you have killed can be reanimated.**

The basic necromancer skill. Fair enough. It wasn’t what Tom was expecting—the skills came as a reward to that stupid monster hunt quest, after all—but it was within _normal_ parameters. Every necromancer needed this basic skill. There wasn’t a necromancer alive that could claim they leveled up without using this skill at least once!

It was also the foundation of other higher tier skills. In order to learn more advanced necromancer magics, Raise Undead must be learned and gotten to a certain level first.

**Aura of the Supreme Ruler Beginner Level 1 (0%): Emit a terrifying aura fit for a Supreme Lord.**

**Passive: Ignore all Dark Magic skill requirements.Charisma increases with level of skill. (Charisma +5)**

**Active: Monsters within range of your aura take damage over time proportionate to a fraction of the sum of your level, skill level, Intellect, Wisdom, and Charisma.There is a chance monsters with sums below your own will be paralyzed by fear. Consumes mana per second.**

**More effects will be added as skill level increases.**

An overwhelmingly powerful skill! This was the difference between the necromancer lord and the necromancer class!

Tom took a breath. Not only was the power curve of this skill extremely high, it also boasted a passive effect! Skills did not always come with passives and actives—most were simply one or the other. Those that had both were always considered desirable skills, as leveling it up would give two effects for the labor of one!

And the passive effect would surely come into play later on. By being able to ignore skill requirements, Tom could learn whatever he liked—as long as it was under the Dark Magic category. So, theoretically, if he got his hands on an advanced Dark Arts book, he could learn it even at the low level of 35! It was a powerful passive with little boundaries. So, it was a high priority skill to level up. He’d have to constantly use it while training.

However…Tom frowned. The mana costs were enormous upon first cast. To maintain the aura, it didn’t seem to need much, but to _activate_ it was a different matter. Just to test it, Tom tried activating it.

“Aura.”

Immediately, a small spiraling wind took up around him. It was reminiscent to the Skeleton King’s defensive attack! Dark energy whirled. Tom’s eyes lit up with bits and pieces of anti-mana glow, and he could feel his mana being drained by the second. He checked his MP bar.

_Half gone?!_

Of course such a powerful skill would come with drawbacks—especially at the early level. Tom observed his surroundings. The range of the aura was very small—it was in the shape of a circle with a radius of about one meter from his person. His shadow appeared unaffected, and when he told it to move out of the range of his aura, it did so without impediment. The aura did not follow it.

So it was only him, and on top of that, for such a small area…

Of course such a powerful skill would not be easy to train. With the mana costs, it was likely he couldn’t use Shadow Reader along with it if he wanted them to last more than a minute or two. It was really a huge relief that he’d managed to raise Shadow Reader to Intermediate, allowing him to keep part of it active without using mana.

Well, at least as much to use his shadow.

Shadow Reader, Hand of Death, Undead Mastery, Raise Undead, and Aura of the Supreme Ruler. Those were the only remotely offensive skills he had. And yet, through strategic usage, they were also very powerful skills! With this, at level 35, Tom knew it was more than enough to head to another town.

The path leading there was a mix of signs and wooden boards leading through the swamp.

“We’re going,” Tom said, still uncomfortable with acknowledging that the shadow was himself. “You walk in front.”

Wordlessly, his shadow drifted forward and took the lead.

To the heart of Nox Kingdom, and whatever lied beyond—this was the beginning of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! Necromancer Lord, ruler of none, as well as…

The player Voldemort, who permanently changed the destiny of Mortem.

* * *

**Name: Voldemort ~ Level: 35**

**Faction: Slytherin ~ Class: Necromancer Lord**

**Title: Servant of Death ~ Fame: -100**

**Health: 2730 (+50) ~ Mana: 9800 (+130)**

**Strength: 11 ~ Stamina: 30**

**Intellect: 207 (+8) ~ Wisdom: 160 (+2)**

**Luck: 17 (+1) ~ Agility: 20 (+2)**

**Charisma: 5**

**Taint of the Dead: 130**

**Attack: 0 ~ Defense: 0 (+3)**

**Fullness: 99 ~ Fatigue: 45**

**Magic Resistance +50%**

**Current Skills: Undead Mastery (Inter. lv 1), Shadow Reader (Inter. lv 1), Observe (Beg. lv 2), Hand of Death (Beg. lv 8), Raise Undead (Beg. lv 1), Aura of the Supreme Ruler (Beg. lv 1)**

* * *

…

Elsewhere, at the same time as Voldemort embarked on his path to greatness, so too did three other pairs of eyes walk down their own paths. From Scarred, who was destined to coincide with the holder of the Eyes of Death, to two _others_ in two opposite kingdoms…

The Eyes of Space had opened. So too, then, did the Eyes of Time.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA I DID IT I FINISHED TOM'S JOB ADVANCEMENT! (by cutting out a lot of stuff but no one wants to read grinding anyway. Tom's not Harry.)
> 
> But yeah. I tried really hard to make Tom as potentially OP as his counterpart, as you can see. The point of it all is that he's as much as an MC as Harry is, though Harry has the more exciting adventures (so not biased). In fact, it's all Tom's fault that they're going to collide in the way, way future, so blame everything on him!
> 
> In other news, thank god for Equilibrium as I have writer's block for everything else. I just needa pump out some plot yo bahahahahaha. In that respect, this fic isn't hard to write since half of the chapter is world building, and that's fun...
> 
> Welp, plot point Job Advancement done...
> 
> (Also, hooray! 50k words!)


	9. Entry IX: The Other Pair

 “…It changed.”

The sound of the harp came to an abrupt stop, a fact that caused many in the large hall to cease their conversations and actions to see what was wrong.

On one side of the hall, right against the wall, was a raised dais. A woman in a sheer white dress perched on a stool atop of it, her arms draped in white cloth with gold bangles around her wrist. Her pale shoulders and collar bone were completely revealed in her strapless attire, and the various shining ornaments in her braided blonde hair made her resemble a life-sized porcelain doll.

Against her leg was a large golden pedal harp, the strings of which her hands were splayed across in a frozen half-pluck. The woman’s blue eyes, once directed toward her instrument, were now directed at some point in the far off distance above a horizon invisible to the other players.

Speaking of which, another female player showing her concern stepped onto the dais. Her lips were tilted downward in the shape of a frown, though it was only visible because her helmet that previously covered it was now held in her hands.

“Sola?”

At the call of her in-game name, Luna jerked back into reality. The harp shifted at the sudden movement, but her leg stopped it from teetering.

“Ah?”

“Is something wrong?”

There _was_ something wrong. Luna righted the harp before pushing away and standing. Now at her full height, it was obvious to see the train of her dress and drapery spilled out onto the marble floor—a swirling river with no direction, as if she stood in the center of a white whirlpool. Daintily, her fingers plucked the skirt of her dress to remove her main impediment before she hurried down the steps of the dais.

“I’ll be going now.”

“W-Wait! Sola! What about Lady Helena?!”

“Tell her something urgent came up!” Luna shouted without looking back. The other players parted for her as she rushed to the large double doors. “That I’m unable to continue my duties as the church muse! She’ll understand!”

“But—”

The doors slammed shut. Luna was gone.

The female knight sagged. “But _I_ don’t understand,” she whispered. “How am I going to tell the _Priestess of Ravenclaw_ that her favorite musician has run off?”

* * *

Luna sighed, disconnecting from her headset. It was the downside to having such a long session of W&W—her body felt numb and ached as if she had overslept. The manual had explicitly stated the importance of breaks between play times, but of course many people ignored the suggestion.

Well, it wasn’t like she was unused to this feeling.

Ever since she was a child, her body had been sickly and weak. Her fragility was from her mother; the late Mrs. Lovegood had had a weak constitution and suffered many hospital visits for it. She passed away when Luna was five, too sick to leave her room in her last three months. Luna, though healthier than her mother, still suffered from poor health.

She was seventeen now. Her life was not currently in danger—the bed she lied in was that of her room’s rather than the hospital’s—but as if she _was_ sick, a pervasive loneliness remained.

Few of her classmates wanted to be friends with “the girl that was always sick,” after all.

And that was why she loved virtual reality—there, she wasn’t sickly, strange Luna Lovegood; she was Sola, the serene, scintillating muse of the Church of Ravenclaw. Her father had purchased W&W for her as a birthday gift, so that perhaps she wouldn’t be so alone when he was off traveling or writing for his blog. Luna thought it was the best gift he had ever given her.

…Though, things weren’t exactly going well online either.

Many would consider Luna a very successful player. Though her level was only slightly above the server average, her name was well known and her skill levels were rather high. She spent more time befriending NPCs and amassing knowledge than leveling, which made Ravenclaw Faction a perfect fit for home.

Not only that, but Luna’s title—the Muse of the Church of Ravenclaw—wasn’t just a title. She’d been one of the minorities that had managed to obtain a secret class—the muse class. It could thus be said that that made Luna even _more_ successful, for her status gave her not only fame, but also special quests, rewards, and experience that explained the gap between her skill and player level.

On top of these well known facts was the _lesser_ well known fact that Sola was one of a very _select_ group of people—a group that she, and probably only she player-wise, knew to have a grand total of four, including herself. These were those that possess or _would_ possess the Keys of Mortem. Luna, the first to obtain hers, was the possessor of the Future Key—or the Eyes of Future, as they were also called.

She knew then from her Precognition skill that, once united, the four Keys could break the barrier separating Mortem from the other continents. They were players that had the opportunity to change the very boundaries of Witches and Wizards! But something had gone wrong, and this future as she saw it had changed.

 _Something…_ had shifted. When before the Keys had been destined to unite, _now_ the future was murky. Luna no longer knew if she would ever meet the other three players—Past and Future were meant to guide Life and Death, Life and Death were meant to ground Past and Future—and for some reason, that…

That what? Upset her? Frustrated her? It _distressed her_ , Luna knew that much. She had not seen their faces, did not know their player names, but what she _did_ have were emotions—the emotions that the future could’ve brought, but were no longer fated. She wanted friends, knew those players _could_ be her friends…but now she no longer knew if she would ever meet them.

Well, she didn’t know if she could ever meet the Eyes of Space, but she knew how to complete the pair of Time. What had changed had separated their pairs, so she still knew how to meet her counterpart at least, now that their quest paths would no longer cross. It took a bit of investigation, but she knew the Eyes of Past’s—well, the _player who would come to have_ the Eyes of Past—location.

Luna wondered which one was it. Life or Death, which one had changed the future?

* * *

Duro Kingdom was home to Hufflepuff Faction, with the headquarters for the Church of Hufflepuff located in its capital, Orbis Major. Said capital served as a center of trade for much of the continent of Mortem—merchants of all factions were welcome, and the residential area was highly sought after for its favorable location.

As Hufflepuff Faction didn’t hold any sort of grudge or rivalry like that between Slytherin and Gryffindor, Orbis Major was considered neutral territory. Any seeking to enter Orbis Major without malignant intention could safely pass through Hufflepuff territory. This made it a popular hotspot for tourism, further fueling the merchant economy, and also led to many famous players calling it home.

It was so popular that it wasn’t odd to see mobs of people standing about, at its epicenter probably a famous player handing out autographs or telling stories. Famous guilds also recruited in Orbis Major’s center square, though famous was not necessarily equivalent with _elite_.

While power _did_ come in numbers, it also came in skill! Many of the elite guilds had level and skill requirements for its members in order to maintain their status. Some even had quotas for dungeons or activities. Other guilds were specialized—usually its players were up for hire and the guild doubled as a union—and others were well-rounded, specifically to form their own hunting parties.

Odic, surprisingly, was in none of those. And it was not for lack of offers, either—many desired to add the growing popularity of the treasure hunter to their reputation. Odic was a player known for clearing treasure dungeons at unparalleled speed—the hunting parties that collaborated with him had high success rates, and anyone who dared to try and backstab him found themselves unceremoniously left behind.

No one knew what class he was, or what skills he had that brought him such success; regardless, Odic was quickly becoming a household name in Hufflepuff territory, and any merchant in Orbis Major looked forward to doing business with him.

That was precisely why Cedric Diggory, the player behind the brave treasure hunter Odic, found himself in the capital today. After all, the urbanized areas of Duro Kingdom were no good for treasure hunting. There were few if any dungeons in the area that _hadn’t_ been explored from head to toe already—going to dungeons on the outskirts of town would be pointless save for grinding levels. And, though levels were important, Cedric did not necessarily see them as high priority.

He was a treasure hunter. Levels were only a means to get _into_ a dungeon. They certainly wouldn’t get him out of one—not with a class like his.

Many had decided to believe the rumor that Odic had a secret class was true. And it was. All of the guesses pertaining to what it actually was, however, were wrong—and it was to no real surprise. Cedric knew his class was one of the highly specialized, extremely _niche_ hidden classes, and outside of its purpose it was really quite useless.

He was a scavenger, a utility based class focused on finding, identifying, and taking items. It was a variation of the rogue or thief main class—again, no surprise there—though its skill set was narrowed down to trap detections and pickpocket-like skills. Scavenger, a class useless in any and all types of battle! For Cedric, it was not a class anyone who knew him in real life would think he had.

Cedric himself didn’t think he’d end up with such a class. On first logging in, he’d wanted to be something noble—powerful, capable of chasing after glory and fame while holding honor above all else. If anything, he _should’ve_ been a warrior and he _should’ve_ been a Gryffindor—but his interests did not necessarily converge with his desires.

There was nobility in treasure hunting, too. And there was the same adrenaline rush as there would’ve been in battle, and he certainly got himself a bucket load of fame for it. And really, what more glory could one find than rediscovering an ancient artifact lost to time, entering a monster-infested dungeon and making it out weary, but alive and _with loot_? _Anyone_ could fight monsters. Treasure hunting had more finesse to it than hacking away with a sword.

Cedric liked the rush, but he didn’t live for it. He liked knowing he was the first to find something, liked having stories to tell about things few would ever see. He liked to study the things he found, too—find out why they were important, figure out how they fit into the grand scheme of things.

And because Odic was Cedric, Odic enjoyed those things, too. So really, as pathetic as the scavenger class sounded, he had come a long way in order to appreciate it for what it allowed him to do.

Take for example what he was doing now; maneuvering through the crowds of Orbis Major was not as easy as it might’ve sounded, but the agile dexterity of his work made it as easy as breathing. Still, just to make sure, Cedric tugged on the hood of his old olive-colored cloak, making sure it was secure and covered his head. It wouldn’t due to be recognized now; even though his errands were done, he didn’t really want to spend the next hour signing signatures.

Even _he_ needed a break from fame, and he _liked_ talking to people!

Beneath the chattering of the crowd, Cedric heard a soft melody. It was the sound of a string instrument being strummed, rhythmic and pleasing to the ear. He unconsciously began to move toward it, wondering if there was also a voice he could not hear singing accompany.

_Those who wander are not lost,_

_But those who are lost wander;_

_And with our hearts aloft in the wind,_

_So too fly our spirits there to the yonder..._

“A bard?” Cedric asked aloud. Another player beside him shushed him immediately. However, with Cedric’s curiosity now piqued, it was impossible to keep away. He tried to squeeze closer to the voice, moving forward into the mob of players that made up the audience. Finally, when he was in range, Cedric managed to peek between the heads and helmets and hoods of others to see the singer.

She had a full head of beautiful light blonde hair. That shade that transitioned between silver and gold flashed, and Cedric realized—his eyes trained to track anything shiny and expensive—there was ribbon and metal laced into her braid. There was a meadow of soft glossy flowers at the top, placed like a laurel, and he could imagine her in a field making flower crowns as she hummed to nothing particular.

The string instrument he previously heard was a harp. It wasn’t one of the large harps that he saw in the orchestral performances he occasionally attended; rather, the miniature instrument was cradled in her arms, a soft gold that many thieves would not think twice to try and steal. It stuck out for more reasons than its material; against the lace and moon glow of her white matching skirt and top, the harp was clearly the main attraction to pair with her voice.

That was to say, the bard’s beauty was also a bonus to accent her performance.

Then she looked up, piercing into the crowd, and Cedric realized with a start that she was looking in his direction. No, she was looking at _him_.

_And who would know this more than he,_

_Who travels wide and far to find:_

_With eyes alight, in dungeons not yet seen,_

_A treasure trove piled high for a queen._

She _knew_. Cedric froze.

_Those who wander are not lost,_

_But those who are lost wander;_

_Cities fall to dust and sand,_

_But the eyes see past the mist and thunder._

Odic pushed forward. Some players complained, but they all quieted when they saw the singer lower her harp and step forward as well.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said. Her smile was a curious sort of shy. “I was a bit early, I admit, but you would’ve been late otherwise.”

“I’m sorry?” replied Cedric, sounding more like a question than an answer.

“No matter. You’re here now! Come on, I’m sure you’ve got lots of questions. They always do, for me.” And without further ado, she grabbed his hand and pulled him through the crowd. They parted like the Red Sea for her, and he could imagine why. If such a woman were to approach him with her bare midriff showing and her eyes intent on something past him, _he’d_ stand aside too. Nothing was more intimidating—or, he admitted, titillating—than a strong woman who knew what she wanted.

They didn’t make it very far before Cedric gained back his nerve. “Who are you, exactly?” he asked. He didn’t think this was a rude question seeing as she was the one to drag him off in the first place.

“I’m Sola,” the player replied. She did not spare one glance to the players ogling them.

“The Muse of the Church of Ravenclaw?”

“Retired, but yes,” Sola said. “It was quite the journey from the church to here. I wasn’t expecting it to be so tiresome.”

Instead of asking a more important question, Cedric was back to baffled and dumb. “Doesn’t Ravenclaw have a teleporter?”

Sola side-eyed him. It was nothing but innocent, but even that seemed ephemeral—if her lips twitched even a centimeter higher, or her eyelids dropped a centimeter lower—

“Would you use a teleporter to travel to another region?”

“Well, no,” he admitted. “But I don’t see how that’s relevant, considering that most people wou—”

She smiled. Her eyes he had never seen anything quite like before, and once again he was stuck. It was easy for the muse to do those types of things—definitely part of her class; how high was her charisma? Charm? Cedric had _questions_ , but it was as if she didn’t care. He questioned the fact because she was his captor and he her unsuspecting prey.

He swallowed his spit. It went down like a boulder. “Please stop doing that.”

Sola laughed. “Ah, but it isn’t quite as much of me as much as it is you. The past is always that way in the face of the future, you know? Quite literally in your case. And I admit I pulled a few strings to get here.”

“Was that a—was that a pun?” _Again_ with the useless questions. Cedric wanted to sigh. He was never so tongue-tied in front of a girl before; why did it have to be now? When this could be _important_? This was important, actually; he should be worrying and flipping out over the fact that she made a comment about his very secret, very _special_ ability.

“A double pun, actually.”

“A double—oh, strings of fate.”

“You catch on fast,” she praised.

“All in the job,” Cedric blurted out. He regretted it right after; it sounded so stupid and what was he even doing?

“You’re cute,” she remarked, as free as a comment about the weather. He balked in the face of her confidence—no, it wasn’t even confidence; Sola just didn’t care about having a filter, and that _sounded_ like confidence, and Cedric just regretted finding out that confident was his type of woman. It took dating the captain of the girl’s football team to figure that out, and now he couldn’t forget it.

Cho would laugh at him.

Sola, in fact, did. _Again_. This was a mess.

“I have questions,” he said, trying to ground himself.

“Oh, excellent! I have answers. We’ll make a good pair,” Sola said.

“You know about my—” By this time they had reached a more secluded spot on the outskirts of the city. Cedric saw slimes hopping about, just waiting for beginners to kill them.

Still, Sola shushed him. “Shh, it’s a secret, isn’t it?”

“A secret’s only a secret if no one _knows_!”

“Then I’ll just be part of the secret.”

Cedric stiffened. “That’s—I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Well, I suppose you would know,” Sola agreed. “You see secrets on a daily basis. I don’t—quite the opposite, actually.”

“How do you—” and then he realized what she said. “You’re the same as me?”

“Not the same,” she corrected gently. Her hand came to pluck a single string of her harp, and an arrow of light shot forth to kill a slime in one blow. “Only sometimes the same. History does often repeat itself, you know.”

He might be dumbstruck, but he wasn’t stupid. “The future, then,” he breathed, and then was immediately shushed by Sola yet again.

“That’s a secret, too,” she said, and then followed up with, “You can be part of my secret though. I’d really appreciate it if you were.”

“Uh. Sure, okay.” Never mind, he was stupid.

Sola smiled. “Great! Thanks.”

Cedric gulped. “On the condition that you stop doing that.”

“I told you, it’s more of you than me. Besides, it’s ‘all in the job’—ah, fancy that, a muse and a scavenger! We’ll have ever so much fun. Oh, but seeing’s believing after all—ah, wait, we’re the wrong pair to demonstrate...”

Non sequitur after non sequitur was throwing him off. He took a moment to unravel her words before he replied (finally thinking, for once). “Want to go train together?”

Then he thought about their classes. A muse and a scavenger. Never mind, he wasn’t thinking after all—how are they going to _train_ if they couldn’t kill anything?

Sola beamed. “I was waiting for you to ask! The best way to know someone is to fight with them. But I imagine you don’t do much fighting, do you?”

“Not at all.”

“Oh, neither do I! See, we’re getting along already. Well, this _is_ the way of things—we’re not supposed to be the fighters—that’s the other pair’s job—but you know what, I think we’ll manage just fine. We supports have our own way of doing things, don’t we?”

“An unconventional way of doing things,” Cedric agreed. He admitted he was starting to like Sola and her strange way of speaking.

“Unconventional is good. That means we don’t need to invent new things. And, while I’m all for creativity, it does take quite a bit of time and—excuse me for the pun—a _muse_ to get the imagination really rolling.”

…And he was lost again. “Doesn’t it mean quite the opposite? We can’t do things normally.”

Sola shook her head, and her braid swished with the movement. His eyes followed it for a moment before he refocused on her face. “Unconventional means we’re making use of what we already have. Reuse, recycle and all that. It’s a financially sound way of doing things our way!”

“Sans potion expense,” Cedric added. Neither of them were tank classes.

“My, you really haven’t trained with a muse before, have you?” Sola mused.

“I’m afraid I’ve never met one before you.”

“Then we’re each other’s firsts!” she exclaimed, and Cedric nearly choked at the wording. “Well then, now we _really_ have to go training. Oh, but that’s such an uninteresting way to refer to it, especially when you’re with a muse. That simply won’t do if we’re going to get creative. We've got to set the mood.”

His new party mate was walking toward the proper hunting grounds for their level, so Cedric sped up to sidle up next to her. For someone who was wearing fairly delicate clothing, she was certainly fast. He took a glance at her feet and noted the gladiator sandals, string crisscrossing up her pale leg to stack treasure marks all up in a row. Not, Cedric thought, that he was going to go dig for treasure up her leg—dear lord, this girl turned him into a walking mess. “I thought you said being unconventional means _less_ creativity?”

“Nonsense,” Sola said flippantly. “Being unconventional requires twice the creativity.”

“…Oh.”

“So!” the muse began, clapping her hands as she spun on him. Cedric took note of her lazy grin, teeth peeking out between her lips. “Let’s get inspired!”

She was an angel who studied and mastered the art of demonology. He was ninety percent sure of that.

“Wait, you mentioned there was another pair?”

“Oh yes, there’s supposed to be four of us. But something changed, you see, so I had to come here early and make sure I met you. I wasn’t sure if I could later on, so rather safe than sorry they say.”

“Four of us,” Cedric repeated to himself. There was nothing else she could possibly be referring to than their shared secret. If he was the past, and she was the future, then what were the other two? As far as he was aware, the saying was ‘past, present, and future.’ Three. What was the fourth one, possibility? Alternate timeline? “ _Four_ …of us? You’re sure?”

Sola nodded, proud and wistful. She swung her braid over her shoulder, letting the tangle of vines spill down in its full length along her back. Her hair was like that, light and thin but thick in its bountifulness, and Cedric imagined a chest full of gold, shining in the same shade with a mix of silver coins. The future, he thought, was not always so full of riches and rewards; one could hope in vain that it would be, catch a spark of vanity on the highs of that illusion, but that didn’t change the truth. That didn’t change the past.

The past was steady. The future, like Sola, was filled with non sequiturs that took becoming the past to reveal their connections. Cedric disliked such deep philosophical thought—what use was there thinking it when there was nothing to do—but he thought it nonetheless. Did she see all those things, try and piece them together to form a picture of prediction?

Odic received the answers. The past was set in stone. Sola, then, received the questions—the murky future needed to be waded through, and even then, out of the swamp one had more questions than they had answers to those questions.

“Four,” she confirmed softly, in a whisper without the hiss. “Yes. There are four of us—two pairs, to be precise. Don’t you know, Odic? All Eyes come in pairs.”

“Well,” Cedric said, mulling that over, “What if an eye is lost? Then you’ll only have one, and an eyepatch to go along with it.”

Sola considered it. “If an Eye is lost…” she repeated, and this time, _she_ was the one mystified and Cedric was the one who did it. He took a moment to bask in the pride of that.

“I don’t know,” the muse finally replied. “I almost lost you, but I didn’t because I…”

“Because you came to meet me.”

“…Yes. Because I came to meet you. So maybe that’s it—if an Eye is lost, they’ll keep on searching for their other pair. Come Hell or high water, one Eye is not meant to be without the other. All Eyes come in pairs.”

“Whether or not they _go_ in pairs is still up for debate, then,” Cedric remarked, nodding to himself.

Sola hummed. “Quite. We’re walking proof of that.”

“Wait, what?” One sentence and his mind was a mess again. “I thought we—er, I thought our Eyes were a pair.”

“Oh yes, as much as a sock and a glove can be.”

She said yes, but Cedric wasn’t sure if that yes was actually a no. Still, he tried to blink away his confusion and redirect back to his question.

“Then do we not go?”

“We go, and they go—perhaps—but maybe not. Parallel lines do not intersect, but skewed they are not one or the other. Are we skewed? Are we not? The future is a strange place, with one foot in and the same foot out. You can imagine how terribly hard it is to put on shoes when you can’t find the feet they go on.”

And there was the non sequitur. Cedric grinned, if only weakly. He was kind of getting the hang of this—talking to Sola, that is.

“You’d have to get creative,” he said, agreeing but not quite sure what he was agreeing to.

Sola nodded seriously. “Unconventional.”

“Get inspired?”

“Oh, I’d nearly forgotten!” she exclaimed. “I’d love to get inspired with you. To the dungeon we go!”

That one kind of made sense. Sort of. Cedric laughed, and echoed in mirroring excitement, “To the dungeon we go!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A considerably shorter chapter than what y'all are used to for this fic, but we're interluding so :S. Next chapter we should be back to everyone's favorite cinnamon roll berserker! 
> 
> Also Luna is really fun to write, and I've never written Cedric before so someone tell me if I'm doing it wrong.


	10. Entry X: Slayer Known Around the World

The Never Rest Mountain was, among most mid-to-high level Gryffindor players, affectionately nicknamed ‘Mount NTR.’ It was Internet slang Harry never much cared for, though once he learned what it meant he admitted it was fitting in a humorous sort of way.

After all, Never Rest was a high level area with an even higher level of difficulty. The higher up one went, the more difficult it was to breathe and the faster one’s stamina would drain. Exhaustion due to high fatigue was one of the number one causes of death—the monsters were bulky and not easily dealt with in one hit; someone who could barely walk five steps had no chance against them.

It was therefore said that parties that traveled up the mountain would slowly die out; one by one, the members would be picked off until the last one remaining had no hope of going up or going down. They would have to accept being slain by the next mob of monsters they encountered! It was like slowly depopulating a harem—hence, NTR. Whoever came up with the nickname had a crude sense of humor.

Never Rest was probably the least romantic location in the entirety of Gryffindor. It sounded romantic—on the ground. Being trapped in a cave to wait out a blizzard? Huddling together for warmth: a stranded couple whose fates were tied together! Bards could sing on and on and on romanticizing the place, but whoever actually went knew the truth.

Being buffeted by a sudden blizzard was not the beginning of a romance novel. Trying to find shelter while half-blind from the snow was not a situation people held hands in to woo one another—blush? Maybe if their cheeks weren’t frozen blocks of ice!—it was practical, because otherwise they’d be separated thirty seconds into the snowstorm. And then, after finally finding a cave, what did players think those people looked like? Their hair would be a mess; they would be drenched in cold wet slush, and don’t forget the sheer exhaustion from trekking through miles of snow—no one could be called ‘beautiful’ in that sort of situation, never mind have enough energy for sex.

So the implication that the mountain was a) a hotspot for illicit affairs and b) a perfect date spot to bring a lover was ridiculous. Furthermore, the only seducing aspect Never Rest _had_ was if it was between death and the mountain, which was a nonfactor because usually those two things were synonymous.

Hence, Mount NTR stole away family, friends, and lovers, sending them straight back to the rebirth point with one less level. Of course, it wasn’t an impossible area to train in; it was just annoying, and hastily made parties with no experience in co-op play would lose more levels than they gained.

Solo play here? Maybe at the foot of the mountain, but any further up than the first few areas was a recipe for disaster.

Speaking of disasters—

With an unhinged grace the human body was not meant for, Scarred swung his glaive. The Diamondback Yeti bellowed as its stomach was sliced, but the cut was shallow—its thick fur and skin made for a bulky defense, and with levels in the low-to-mid 300s, that translated into a near impenetrable body.

Scarred did not care. He moved, dodging the incoming fist to swing at the monster’s limbs. The glaive in his possession gave him further range than a sword did, but due to the Diamondback’s large size, the difference wasn’t very visible. Again and again he dodged the incoming attacks while countering with his own, until he finally found an opening and clambered up the yeti’s back.

The yeti roared. It was calling for its pack! Unfortunately for the Diamondback, this was exactly what Scarred was waiting for. Having no more need for the lone yeti, Scarred angled his weapon and shouted, “Twister!”

A whirlwind of mana spiraled around his glaive, coming to a point and its blade. Scarred swung down again and again, drawing splatters of blood like an executioner’s swing. When the yeti shook him off, the berserker wasn’t deterred in the least and charged again. The next slice cut along its side, right beneath its ribs, and at this final attack the monster did cry out and fall dead to the ground.

“Oh, a weapon drop,” he muttered, inspecting his loot. “Let’s see…pretty good. I’ll use this one, then.”

Scarred unequipped his glaive and stored it in his inventory. He hadn’t gotten it all too long ago, so the durability was still good enough that it would sell. How much money he got for it, he didn’t really care, so maybe he would just NPC it if no one in the next town wanted to buy it.

He armed himself with his new weapon—it was a long wooden rod with a chain attached to the end, and at the end of that chain was a spiked metal ball, at least thrice the traditional size. There was a glowing aura encircling it when he swung the flail, and for a split second, the perpetual snow wind iconic of Never Rest came to spiral around its path.

**Ice Fiend’s Morningstar**

**_A Morningstar imbued with the power of an Ice Fiend. It is able to manipulate snow fields and create small blizzards. If it is wielded for an extended duration, it may begin to freeze a non-ice affinity wielder._ **

**Durability 300/300**

**Requirements: Strength 250. Level 300.**

**Attack +120**

**Strength +30**

**Ice Affinity +150%**

**Ice Resistance +100%**

Scarred had Advanced Level 1 Weapon Mastery! It allowed him to wield any weapon he chose, and his berserker class allowed him to turn normal objects into weapons as well. Normally, glaives and flails required different types of weapon masteries, but the all-encompassing Weapon Mastery negated that need.

There was a rumbling roar in the distance, and the sound of clobbering footsteps grew closer. Scarred turned in its direction, feeling the ground beneath his feet shake. It must be a large herd this Diamondback had belonged to!

In fact, it was more than just a herd. It was a _clan_. Scarred eyed the bright letters floating above the largest Diamondback Yeti’s head. That one was clearly the leader, and it was _named_ to boot! Named monsters were not only stronger than the others of their species, but they usually came with company. Named Diamondback Yetis in Never Rest Mountain were considered clan leaders, because that ‘company’ was usually more than a herd.

Scarred licked his lips. It was his lucky day.

Despite being only one player, Scarred surged forth into the mob. His target was the named yeti’s head! Certain named monsters could spell an aura that strengthened the surrounding monsters of the same type. The Diamondback Yeti was one such—thus why the named were clan leaders. In order to deal with the rest of the clan, he would have to take out the leader one first!

If there were any other players in the surrounding area, they would’ve certainly heard the sounds of battle over the thundering winds. Had those nonexistent players come to watch, they would’ve seen a sight very seldom saw. It would’ve been recorded, certainly, and gain a fortune of views across any form of social media. One single player taking on an entire clan of Diamondback Yetis—there had to be at least twenty of them, excluding the clan leader.

It would’ve been an amazing sight. People would’ve hunted for that player, searched for him just to get a glimpse of his skill—or they would’ve hunted for him to ascertain his true level. They would’ve guessed he was at least level 400, which was where the front line of players was around. But even at level 400, very few had the skill or the nerve to take on a clan of Diamondback Yetis alone!

**Diamondback Yeti Pachum has been slain. Fame +1.**

**…**

**Diamondback Yeti Pachum’s clan has been singlehandedly defeated. Fame +5.**

Once the battle was over, Scarred collected the loot. He tried to pick up as much as he could, but depending on his hunting grounds that wasn’t always possible. As a berserker, he profited off of ceaseless battling, so to stop and double back placed a punishment on efficiency. Fortunately, these grounds did not have mobs close to one another—the monsters of Mount NTR traveled in packs—so he was free to collect all the drops and actually look through them.

Despite that, he ignored the equipment he’d gotten from the named yeti, unceremoniously tossing it into his inventory—as long as it wasn’t a weapon, he didn’t care. His current armor was better than anything he could find through drops anyway. No, Scarred was looking for a certain item!

“Aha! Found it!” he crowed, picking up a folded piece of paper from a Diamondback’s corpse. Just to make sure, he unfolded it and checked the contents. It looked like a child’s drawing with crayons and everything—three people were holding hands, the shortest of the three in the middle. There was a snowy mountain in the background, a smiling sun in the upper left corner, and one of the stick figures held a brown hatchet.

**Proof of a Father’s Existence Quest completed.**

**Return to the Woodcutter’s Daughter to claim your reward.**

“And it only took seven clans,” Harry mused. “From what everyone was saying, I was thinking I’d be here forever. Guess I’m just lucky.”

The reason he had been purposely hunting for clans was to speed up the search! Clans were much bigger than herds, but they were rarer to stumble across. So, the berserker Scarred had hunted down lone Diamondbacks in hope of one of them calling either a clan or multiple herds to their location. Anyone else would’ve considered his plan insane—he was only a single player, after all!

To reward himself, Harry took out a bit of dried seaweed as a snack. Most adventuring players only ate when their Fullness or Fatigue required them to in order to save provisions, but Harry enjoyed tasting foods he never would in real life. W&W’s sense of taste was incredibly realistic—it not only included the texture of the food, but also the smell.

To think, he would never consider himself a cook or a chef in real life, but in-game Harry loved to experiment with cooking new foods and flavors. His cooking skill was Intermediate level 4! A bit of that had bled over to his real life, actually, but only when he could afford to. Baking his own salmon, collecting more spices than just salt and pepper…

“Not bad,” he mumbled, thoroughly chewing the flakes and letting the flavor seep onto his tongue.

**You have been severely poisoned.**

**Your high poison resistance negates the poison’s effects.**

“…Ah.”

That message was _definitely_ one Harry had seen before. He was immune to most poisons these days.

Someone had been selling off their loot in town, and Harry had taken a look when he saw it wasn’t from any of the surrounding regions. Apparently they’d come from near the border of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff territories, where it wasn’t so cold, and they’d been fighting beach monsters along the coast. One of their drops had been poisonous seaweed, which was absolutely useless and the player had been about to NPC them off until Scarred bought the lot.

He just wanted to try it, okay. It was unlikely he’d be going anywhere near the sea anytime soon, and definitely not to areas warm enough to have poisonous seaweed. So, he bought all they had and made his own dried seaweed during one of his experiments. Maybe he would mix it with a little something else later; it wasn’t _bad_ , but it did have a spicy uppercut punch to it that stung his tongue.

And alright, maybe Harry _had_ added a few of his own dried spices to make it a bit more poisonous than it normally was. In his defense, it added a new layer of flavor to boring old salty seaweed.

Most people used their Herbalism skill to make potions. Harry did that, sometimes…though usually he liked to mix weird plants together and cook them. That was how he’d gotten his high poison resistance in the first place.

“Well, down the mountain I go!” Scarred said, eating the rest of his seaweed and stretching his arms above his head. That had been a decent workout, but he was no stranger to Mount NTR. He’d climbed to the top and back several times before to test if it would make a good training spot.

The distance between mobs hadn’t passed his test. Still, he’d hunted at his leisure for a while longer here just because he wanted to. The furs of some of the monsters were rather popular; they were extremely warm and the clothes made from them had high durability. High level players who were hunting in the colder regions of Gryffindor loved to wear them beneath their armor. To do some good, Scarred had gotten a large amount and sold them to the few merchants and tailors he was friendly with.

This time, he was just here on a quest. He’d still sell the furs, but there was a lot less of them this time around.

As he descended the mountain, the only sound the berserker made was his light humming to a tune a bard he heard sung a couple days ago.

* * *

“Oh, I see now…” the female NPC said. She sniffled, rubbing at the liquid crowding at the corners of her eyes. It did little to halt their trek down her cheeks. “Thank you, kind traveler. My mother always used to say I loved my father before he died, and everyone in the village calls me the ‘Woodcutter’s Daughter’…but I don’t remember him at all. Now though, I don’t think that matters. It’s enough that I know I loved him.”

Harry dipped his head. “I’m sure he loved you, too.”

“I’m quite sure he did, too,” she replied. There was a smile on her face even as she cried. “It must not have been easy getting this back from those Diamondback Yetis. I admit I didn’t believe my mother when she said it must be there—he always carried it on him when he went to cut wood, but I thought it had been buried beneath the snow. I guess it’s a good thing those yetis love to hoard things. Really, thank you.”

“It was no trouble at all,” Harry said. He was patient as he waited for the NPC to continue—she had pulled a handkerchief from her skirt pocket and was now dabbing her eyes. All in all, the Woodcutter’s Daughter—as those around the village called her—was a strong woman who was taking up her family’s business, but there was still a hint of gentleness to her person as she spoke.

“Still, I must reward you,” she insisted. “According to my mother, before my father died, his most prized possession was a golden axe. He received it as an award from the village mayor in his youth. It wasn’t very practical, but I swear that it was made out of pure gold! Here, I have the key to the storage where it’s kept—”

“That’s alright; it was your father’s, so now it’s yours. You may not remember him, but it holds his memories—I’m sure it’s very important to you,” Harry said, interrupting. Actually, the reason why people actually attempted this quest was because of that key. It wasn’t the axe people wanted—though it could be smelted down if brought to a blacksmith—it was what else was inside the storage.

There was a magic scroll that sold for quite a high price hidden in one of the crates. Many mages desired it, hiking up the prices—there was only a few ways to obtain that scroll, after all. However, Harry had no interest in it. What he wanted was something else related to the axe.

Distressed, the female frowned. NPCs didn’t have the same response to reward rejection. Sometimes a player’s intimacy with the NPC or town fell, sometimes the NPCs would insist, other times they would simply accept the player didn’t want it and let it go. Harry was taking a risk in doing this because he wasn’t sure what her reaction would be.

**Luck of the Draw has been activated: 83.**

Well, there was his chance.

“Really, thank you, but I don’t have anything else to give you,” she said. “That’s the only valuable possession I have, and I can’t just let you leave without a reward—”

“I heard your father was a famed woodcutter in the region,” Harry said. “Stories say he had the finest wood in the region.”

“That’s right, yes.”

“I also heard that he said one time that he found a tree even _he_ couldn’t cut.”

The NPC paused. “Well, I don’t know much about that, but it sounds familiar…I’ll get my mother. Maybe she can tell you more.”

Harry agreed and waited. He hadn’t received any sort of quest notification, so he supposed everything was still in negotiation—though whether or not it would become a quest, he wasn’t so sure. When he heard about the ‘tree that couldn’t be cut,’ he had immediately thought it was another Tree of Ages. However, the location did not come with the stories. His search had led him to the woodcutter’s family.

Soon enough, an old woman with whitened hair and a hunched back walked out of the house. Her form was big and bulky, different from her daughter’s smaller muscles, and while she still appeared in good shape, she walked with a wooden cane that was no doubt a family creation.

“I heard from my daughter that you’re looking for my husband’s legendary tree?”

Harry agreed. “Yes. It sounded interesting.”

The old woman nodded once. “Though my husband never told anyone where the tree was, he _did_ show me…once. You’ve done my daughter a great favor. I can see that you’re not a bad fellow. I’ll tell you where the tree is as a reward, but whether or not you can make it there is up to your own power.”

“I’d appreciate that, thanks.”

She motioned him closer before she began to whisper. “Then, do you know the mountains to the north? …”

* * *

Another successful adventure. Scarred arrived at the capital of Lumos Kingdom in a good mood. He certainly had found the Tree of Ages, and enjoyed adding that to his mental list of Trees he knew. He had no desire to ruin the Trees; he just took pleasure in finding them and gaining some stats from exploring.

Because he had taken the time to head to the capital instead of some other town, Scarred tried messaging a few of the merchants he knew to quickly sell his loot. To be honest, he didn’t interact much with other players—never found a party that suit him, or even the inclination to team up with anyone else anyway—but selling bulk monster drops time and time again had caught the attention of a few merchants here and there.

They’d struck up an accord. If they were around and he needed things to be sold, he’d stop by them first. They gave him a reasonable deal, and he didn’t have to wait around in a stall all day to sell his drops. In return, if he ever needed to find something, he had the contacts to do it.

After that business was taken care of, Scarred wandered over to the magic instructor’s place. He took a seat some ways off, close enough that he could see the training mages, but far enough that he wouldn’t be noticed.

“Mana Reader.”

His Mana Reader skill was now Advance Level 1. After it had reached Intermediate, leveling the skill had slowed to a crawl, but he still managed to reach the Advanced tier! Scarred was now level 350. Just thinking back on when he had first obtained the skill from Sirius Black, not even a berserker yet…

That was a long time ago.

**Mana Reader Advanced Level 1 (43%): Allows you to read the flow of mana in people, objects, and the environment.**

**Passive: Can see the density of mana without activation.**

**You can read the mana of the environment and interact with it at will.**

**You can absorb the mana of your surroundings, or put remnants to rest by releasing it back into the aether. If the mana is compatible with your own, a reward is given upon absorption. If it is incompatible, the consequences are dire. Over-absorption will also lead to negative effects.**

**By using the mana of your surroundings, no mana is consumed to use this skill.**

**[Activate: “Mana Reader”; Sub-active: “Mana Read”]**

At some point during the Intermediate stage, Mana Reader had created the new branch skill ‘Mana Manipulation.’

**Mana Manipulation Intermediate Level 9 (27%): Allows you to wield pure mana and manually control its flow.**

**This skill does not require a weapon.**

**Combined with Mana Reader, you have the capability of copying any skill that uses mana. Incomplete copies will receive a penalty. If you have mastered a skill learned through Mana Manipulation, it is possible to create the skill as if you had learned it through a traditional method.**

**Copied skills:**

**Fireball**

**Ice Spear**

**Whirlpool**

**Thunderbolt**

**Holy Shield**

**Heal**

**Bless**

**…**

The list of magic spells he’d learned this way was long. If he swapped his armor, Scarred could easily pass off as a mage! He didn’t even need any magic scrolls to learn rare spells—he just needed to see someone else use them. Of course, it had taken long, hard practice before he could copy a spell after seeing it once—in the beginning, he had needed to see Fireball at least fifty times before he could create fire, and that had been a matchstick’s amount.

He didn’t only know mage spells, either. Scarred had learned useful support skills, like a priest’s Heal and a paladin’s Holy Shield. He even learned a bard’s Lullaby, just for kicks—though he personally thought his singing left a lot to be desired.

Even though he knew all these spells, he could count the number he’d mastered on one hand. It wasn’t as simple as performing a perfect copy—the only benefit to that was removing the power penalty placed on incomplete copies of spells; he was basically learning the spell manually by manipulating pure mana, rather than reading a book and suddenly being able to cast the spell— _mastering_ a skill meant making it one’s own. It meant total, complete control, with the ability to take the skill up a notch—growth; mastering a skill this way meant giving it room to grow into something new and improved.

If he’d been a mage, other players would die for this skill. The fact of the matter was that Scarred was a berserker, and using magic as a berserker had a penalty in and of itself…though arguably more benefits than penalties.

For one, INT and WIS _did_ matter. His control over mana helped supplement where those felt short, and if a player did look at his stats, they would say they were high enough. However, it was a point that mages, like warriors, had their power boosted outside of stats—they had passive skills that made their spells do more damage, elemental affinities to boost certain skills. Warriors had skills that added effects to their attacks, like causing the _bleed_ status effect or increasing damage done with a heavy weapon. It was the same concept.

Numbers, stat numbers, were not the only measure of power. So, despite his INT and WIS’s high count (which was also because of Mana Reader and Mana Manipulation), he still fell in power compared to a true mage.

Well, ‘power’ in that context referred to pure spell casting. Scarred was a berserker at heart! There was more to a battle than how much damage one’s skills did, and if there was one thing he was confident in, it was his strength in PvP.

PvP—or player versus player—was what gamers called sanctioned duels. Both participating players agreed to battle, and the penalty of the duel had to be agreed upon between both players. The 24-hour real time penalty did not apply to deaths in PvP areas, allowing users to come back and fight to their heart’s content.

Scarred casually participated in tournaments, and did every so often fight in random skirmishes, or when someone challenged him. He’d made a bit of a name for himself, because Scarred usually didn’t have a designated weapon. By his third duel, other players had figured out he was a berserker, if only because of his unorthodox battle methods.

His hand twitched. Battling monsters took the edge off, but every now and then, he felt the urge to fight a person instead of a computer AI. Monsters were predictable. They had patterns. People, on the other hand, adapted to the heat of the moment. Sometimes, he felt the urge to fight not only with his body, but also using his mind.

Hunting monsters had become mindless to Scarred. Leaping into a clan of twenty level 300-and-some Diamondback Yetis would be considered insane to most people—it was a fact that coming out of that situation alive would be even more mentally trying. But battling was in his blood, now. He had developed an instinct for fighting monsters. Such a simple thing as Diamondback Yetis? It was only a small game to him, nothing much.

He only ever had the urge to kill monsters—dive into a cave infested with them and come out alive as the victor. Toward other players, Scarred instead felt a sense of wanting to be challenged. A single monster wasn’t as interesting as a player. He wanted to fight, almost all the time but most of the time it was a feeling he could push away.

Like now, watching the flow of mana calmed him. Turning on Mana Reader allowed him to see more detail. It was not all the same—the practicing mages all had varying skill levels, which lead to others being stronger and more ‘complete’ in the sense that their mana was smooth and not wasteful.

Scarred watched it circulate. Mana coiled and purred. It quickened, following a current—from the heart, to the arms, to the hands and then erupting from the tip of a staff. Mana was also predictable, but just because it was predictable didn’t mean he could always follow it. Sometimes, if the user was particularly skilled, he could only watch it without understanding why its path was the way it was.

Like this, he could forget his urge to battle. His blood could cool, and the memories of today’s and yesterday’s battles melted away.

Scarred finally felt his body unwind. The adrenaline rush he had while fighting was all gone now, leaving only a satisfied coil of power. It would unspring and bleed throughout his entire body again once he returned to the fields, but for now he could rest. That was enough for him.

A long time ago, when he had first been trying to learn how to manipulate mana, he would sit here or in view of other practicing mages, trying to control a free-flowing liquid. Now though, he had nothing left to learn from newbies doing a bit of spell practice. It only calmed him to watch them use their mana.

The berserker stood. Maybe he would treat himself to something sweet—he’d just earned quite a bit of money from today’s battles, after all.

* * *

In Fortuna Major, a high percentage of the residents were warriors—part of the melee class, whatever their specialization might be. Gryffindor Church enlisted a high number of paladins, and that was independent of the city’s own military force. It was only natural that stores catering to these players would sprout up eventually.

_Swan’s Smithery_ was one such place. It was a player-run shop, started by a blacksmith duo named Swan and Twist. Swan was the face of the smithery, so it was her name that went on the sign out front.

The name deterred many first time customers, out of some perverse concept of masculinity and who exactly should be a blacksmith. Neither Swan or Twist minded; among the players that mattered, their shop was considered a five-star hole-in-the-wall. Everything from custom orders to repairs, they did it, and at the front counter, they also sold either weapons they made or weapons sold to them.

Because it _was_ a smithery, ‘normal’ weapons—average drops—weren’t sold here. They still bought them to smelt them down to metal, but they didn’t sell them back. Only rare equipment, such as those with special effects or high stats, would be sold at the front. They guaranteed quality, which was why Harry liked to stop by when he could.

The owners and he had a tentative professional business relationship: they recognized him, he sold to them. In the past, he had bought equipment here—accessories and such that were better than the current monster drops he donned—but never a weapon. After he had reached level 300—and had a significant amount of liquid funds; solo boss hunting meant he never had to split the drops—he had commissioned an armor set from them, which was the current one he wore now.

Without his cloak hiding his attire, Scarred’s armor was easily recognizable. It was designed specifically for him and his needs—light and flexible so he could pull off his acrobatic stunts, still durable because his fights would be long and ceaseless without regular maintenance pauses.

He had harvested the materials for his equips by himself—well, things that he _could_ get for them. He couldn’t smelt metal bars, but he could get the different metal ores from monsters. He’d partied with either Swan or Twist several times when they needed to go into monster-infested mines, so he knew exactly how much work went into the things he was wearing.

A literal blood red cape was slung across his back. That had been a collaborative work between Swan’s Smithery and a high-level tailor shop. It had been made with the base of a dementor’s cloak, giving it a ragged appearance, and Scarred had collected different types of boss-level monster blood for the dye. He’d also harvested a rare type of (very poisonous) spider lily flower from one of his adventures, and that had been added to the dye as well.

Unlike other tankier warriors who wore layer after layer, Scarred wore comparatively few. Beneath his armor was a dragonhide set; he’d gotten the material for that from a mini-boss level wyvern. It’d been a memorial battle in his past, so he’d never sold the loot from it before then.

His actual armor was a sleek black that conformed to his body type. It wasn’t a full body, because then it’d be next to impossible to pull the moves he was used to, but it gave him a decent amount of coverage on the important areas. It was patchy, so the dark red scales with teeth-like spikes of the dragonhide showed through in some areas. His upper torso, shoulders, arms, and hands were patched with armor like a quilt, alternating between metal and scales.

His lower body was arguably more covered—From his hips to along his thighs, the same void-sheen armor protected him. He had kneecaps on, usually, and his boots were of the same material…with some additions to increase their durability while giving them high AGI stats. It’d taken a long time to collect the materials and had costed him a right fortune for labor and skill costs, but now that he had them, he wouldn’t have to replace his equipment for a very, very long time—maybe even never, if he sought to upgrade them.

As a treat, Swan Smithery did maintenance and repairs for him at a ‘discounted’ cost—practically free—provided he bring in something to sell them at the same time. Considering that Scarred only ever came in when he had something to sell, this was an easy requirement to meet.

So yes, he and the owners did have a tentative professional business relationship.

“How much can I get for this?”

Swan, a dark-skinned female player with a rugged edge to her, picked up the Morningstar and checked it over. Her brown hair didn’t move much as she tilted her head to-and-fro; it was too short for that, length resting around her jaw line in a straight bob cut. He supposed it was natural for her line of work; long hair would be a bother, and she’d have to tie it up whenever she worked in the forge.

Harry liked to think they were kindred spirits in this sort of manner. In the game, she lived and breathed her work—he’d never found a blacksmith with better attitude, with the exception of Twist, who matched her.

“So it’s you,” she said after her inspection, placing down the weapon on the counter.

Scarred ducked his head to grin before pulling off the hood of his cloak. “Me,” he agreed.

“Really,” Swan sighed, “Every time I get a weird weapon, it’s always from you. I don’t know where it’s from, but if I had to guess…far north, there’s only Mount NTR that could have this sort of stuff, huh.”

Scarred confirmed it. “Why would you think it came from the north, though?”

“Distance,” Swan said. “It’s not a fresh drop—the durability’s low enough that I know you’ve been fighting with it for some time. Ah, not that Twist can’t repair it to full in a moment. It must’ve been a far off place that had Ice Fiends; somewhere high-level. I haven’t ever seen this weapon either, which means it’s got to be from somewhere no one likes to go. You may cover your tracks well, Scarred, but anyone who wanted to would just have to look at your loot!”

“I think that’s only you,” Scarred returned, crossing his arms on the counter. “You think I sell to just anyone?”

“If it’s convenient for you, yes,” the blacksmith replied near immediately. “Now, this Morningstar…unfortunately for you, there’s not a large market for blunt weapons. I could think of a few guys who would salivate at the thought of having this, but there’s only two with enough money for it. I’m charging you for the repair, too, because we splurged on a forge upgrade recently—”

“No problem, no problem,” waved Scarred.

Swan didn’t smile, but there was a hint of satisfaction in her look. “This is why I like you. Since the special effect is unique as far as I know—haven’t heard of anyone else having an Ice Fiend blessed weapon—I’ll give you twenty-five million galleons for it.”

“Only?”

“Twenty-six if you told me how you got it, in detail.”

Scarred grinned. “Well I’d feel like I was ripping you off, then. Sure, I’ll sell it for twenty-six if you check over my boots. NTR’s weather really isn’t nice to them, even with resistances.”

“Deal.” The blacksmith initiated a trade request, which Scarred accepted once he returned the Morningstar to his inventory. Twenty-six mill for a weapon, then the trade was complete. “So, where’d you get it?”

“I was hunting Diamondback Yetis for the picture quest,” he replied, shrugging.

“The one with the magic scroll reward?”

“Yeah. A Diamondback dropped it. I was…I think I was around five clearings from the top of the mountain. Definitely more than three quarters the way up; it took forever to walk down. He called a clan over afterwards, so I think they might’ve been a mob around the cave entrances? Something like that,” he explained, waving his hand in a flippant manner. It flopped back and forth like a whale’s tail.

Swan sighed. “Your luck’s insane, _as usual_. Good to see you’re doing well. Just go around the back—you know the way—and have Twist look at your boots.” She shooed him off the counter before taking up a cloth to wipe it down.

“Sure. Thanks for the trade.”

“Thanks for the business,” she returned.

* * *

Twist was a very meticulous man. He was built tall, but his actual size wasn’t what one would think. It must’ve been the height that made him look slim, because anyone with eyes could see he had muscles. Still, the bulge of his arms looked average in relation to his height.

His size was part of the reason he was so meticulous—things always had to be in easy reach of him, right where he put them before. The tables were taller, doorways a bit larger; all the chairs had additions to their legs to make them the proper size. If someone moved something even a centimeter off, he would notice, because Twist calculated everything from his arm span to the number of steps his long legs had to take to fetch so-and-so.

In short, everything had to be perfect. Scarred was careful not to move anything as he entered Twist’s territory. It was a mistake everyone who had come to associate with the man had made at least once; thereafter, their awareness levels raised a good notch or two when doing business.

“Scarred,” Twist greeted without turning around. “Your footsteps are as light as ever.”

“Thanks, I think,” he replied in turn. “I’m here to get my—”

“Boots repaired. Yes, I heard you out front talking to Ange. Agh, sorry—Swan.”

Scarred paused for a moment before asking, “Are you busy right now? I could come back later—”

“No, no,” the male blacksmith interrupted. A few more clangs with his hammer before it was set down. “Not busy. Just finishing up an order. It won’t take long to repair your boots; give ‘em here.”

He did so. Twist began to check them over—much like Swan did with the Morningstar he sold her—before nodding to himself lightly. “They don’t seem that banged up; a good simple Repair should do it. You take good care of your stuff.”

“It hasn’t been that long since my last maintenance,” Scarred said, shuffling his sock-covered feet.

Twist did a one-shouldered shrug. “I’ve seen worse. There’s always worse—in the grand scheme of things, you’re not so bad. Not bad at all, actually. Sometimes your battles get rough, but that’s just life. We’re happy to help when the loot you bring back pays your repairs and some. Most of the time, you don’t give us much work to do.” As if to demonstrate his point, Twist said, “Repair,” and Scarred’s boots were as good as new.

When he handed them back, Scarred took them and did a quick check of the stats before re-equiping them. The durability was back to full.

“Trust me. I know another berserker—you’re rare, but not _that_ rare in this line of business—and he always comes in with his armor barely hanging off him by a thread. It’d be mashed in, chewed up—you’d think the guy’s come out of a dragon’s mouth the way he walks in! We charge him half a fortune every time for repair and material costs. I think I’ve remade his armor several times over all things considered. It brings in the money, yeah, but it’s a real pain in the ass sometimes. You? You’re easy. You respect your stuff—I respect that.”

“Maybe I just want free repairs,” Harry joked.

“I wouldn’t blame you. Repairs make up a good percent of our profit,” Twist said seriously. He returned to his work, but kept on talking, so Scarred lingered. “You come back to participate in the next PvP tournament? NTR’s pretty far off, and I doubt you came back just for your boots.”

Scarred blinked. He had, in reality, just come back to the capital because he felt like it, but the PvP tournament piqued his interest.

“They’re having another one? I haven’t heard about it.”

“S’small one,” Twist answered, grunting as he brought his hammer down particularly hard. “Prize isn’t much, but I got a few orders coming in because of it. Apparently it’s run by the Church? And between you and me—” he lowered his voice, stopping his work for a moment, “—I think there’s more to it than a pot of galleons.”

“Is that so,” Scarred murmured. Then, louder, he said, “Thanks for the info.”

“No problem,” Twist said just as easily. “You help us, we help you. S’way of things. That’s what friends do. Hey, bring back something like what you brought today next time, yeah? If I could learn just a bit from it—well, that’s worth a billion galleons to me and Swan.”

“I can try.”

“You’re a good guy. See you around, Scarred.”

The berserker nodded, and turned to leave. “See you around.”

* * *

**Name: Scarred ~ Level: 350 ~ Race: Human**

**Faction: Gryffindor ~ Class: Berserker**

**Title: Slayer Known Around the World ~ Fame: 9031**

**Health: 75842 (+…) ~ Mana: 45067 (+…)**

**Strength: 1348 (+…) ~ Stamina: 723 (+…)**

**Intellect: 553 ~ Wisdom: 611**

**Luck: 492 ~ Agility: 770 (+…)**

**Stealth: 121 ~ …**

**Attack: 1017 (+…) ~ Defense: 679 (+…)**

**Rage: 0**

**Fullness: 100 ~ Fatigue: 0**

**Poison Resistance +500%**

**Fire Resistance +150%**

**Ice Resistance +200%**

**Elemental Resistance +150%**

**Current Skills: Hippogriff Riding (Inter. lv 7), Mana Reader (Adv. lv 1), Prowl (Inter. lv 1), Luck of the Draw (Inter. lv 1), Patronus Charm (Inter. lv 5), Demonic Metamorphosis (???), Tornado of Mana (Inter. lv 9), Weapon Mastery (Adv. lv 1), Cooking (Inter. lv 4), Herbalism (Inter. lv 6), Mana Manipulation (Inter. lv 9), …**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, Harry!! Here's a treat for everyone :).
> 
> * **NTR** , as defined by the Urban Dictionary:  
>  _Japanese acronym for Netorare, used to define a genre of Eroge (Hentai Game), meaning "Cuckold". In short, the main protagonist's loved one(s) are taken or seduced away from him and the heroine might be willing or unwilling. This is to cause an emotion of deep jealousy on the reader._
> 
> I'm not sorrryAnywho, I know we got a huge timeskip and it might be really jarring, but trust me I'm gonna try and build Harry's arc as best as possible. Becoming a berserker and living his berserker life is unfortunately not what _Equilibrium_ is about! So, this arc is (if you haven't guessed it already) about how Harry became a bishop.
> 
> Just another quick note before I'll leave y'all alone--if you read the stats section I put at the end of every Tom or Harry chapter, you'll notice the parentheses and the ellipses. Normally, whatever's in the parentheses is equipable stuff (like titles and stats gained from armor/weapons), but since we don't exactly know what he has equipped, I've made them ellipses instead.
> 
> If you take a glance down at the skills list, you might also notice I have an ellipses at the end. I'll be writing down his skills in order of appearance, so we won't see the full extent of his skill set quite yet. If you can see the tiny spoiler surprise I shoved in there, congrats, that'll be important later ;) If you haven't realized what it is already, flip back to the previous Harry chapter~
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!


	11. Entry XI: The Weapon Thief

Fishing in-land in the North was about as pleasant as driving along a pothole-filled road. The frigid air stung—as always—but players couldn’t even move around to get warm. Some didn’t have the skillset to go ice fishing, and so they stuck to the rapid rivers that moved through inconvenient locations.

No, the best place to fish was the ocean; ice fishing rarely lead to the haul those at the coast got. Very few players bothered with fish in the North, unless they absolutely couldn’t find any meat to roast. It was a matter of what could kill them more—hunting, or the time-consuming task of fishing. Would they get killed by a mob, or die to the harsh weather before they caught a fish?

Many Northern players, Gryffindors, usually decided it wasn’t worth it to learn the fishing skill. Scarred had been of the same opinion until he learned Herbalism and took an interest in the Cooking skill as well. After all, when most of the things he killed could be eaten, going fishing was a tedious activity just to get a bit of food.

**You have made a new recipe. Name your dish?**

Harry shrugged. “Sure, why not. Let’s call it ‘Calamity Sushi.’”

**New dish: Calamity Sushi has been recorded.**

**Cooking has leveled up.**

**“Toxic Chef” title has been upgraded to “Danger in the Kitchen”. Fame +25.**

**Title: Danger in the Kitchen**

**[Master Tier]**

**A title gained by a player who has created over a hundred different poisonous recipes, and has mastered the delicate balance between deadly and delicious. If a player is able to survive their cooking, who knows what sort of mysterious power they will be granted…**

**Intelligence +20**

**Poison Resistance +200%**

**Poison Affinity +200%**

**High chance to add effect bonuses to your cooking when using normal ingredients**

**High chance to poison your cooking when using non-toxic ingredients**

**Burned dishes are salvageable**

**Increased damage to poison-affinity monsters**

**Chance to add poison status effect to your basic attacks**

Scarred bashfully scratched his head. “Is this sort of thing an insult or a compliment, I wonder…”

A Master tier title! It was the highest ‘level’ of a title that could be earned, as far as the current information base knew. The rankings went as such: Basic, Advanced, Master. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say Harry had gotten this Master tier absurdly early—these sorts of titles were usually only earned once a player had reached the Advanced level in their skill.

Because Harry almost exclusively cooked ‘odd’ food, the result was upgrading his Toxic Chef title to the Master tier Danger in the Kitchen title at only Intermediate Level 5 Cooking.

“This is actually a pretty good title. Too bad my current one is better, otherwise I’d use it.”

Scarred’s current title, Slayer Known Around the World, was a monster hunting-type title. These were considered the easiest titles to get; many earned them simply by training. The irony was, Scarred’s title was one of the most difficult to obtain in the game. If there was a tier list of titles ranked by difficulty, his was in the top one percent _at least_.

It required an absurd amount of work within a six month time frame—possessing at least one hundred Master tier monster hunting-type titles, each of which must be of different monster types, killing a hundred thousand monsters within a week, killing a hundred mini-bosses within a week, killing five boss-level monsters within a week, completing at least three hundred monster hunting-type quests (5 of which must be A difficulty and above, 50 of which must be B difficulty and above, 100 of which must be C difficulty and above, _exclusive_ ), clearing at least fifty dungeons by oneself or in one party, each of which must be cleared within a week…

To top it all off, the monsters he killed for the title (barring the Master tier title requirement) had to be _around his level_. He couldn’t simply hunt newbie monsters all day!

Scarred had worked his ass off—sometimes literally—to get it. Deciding to chase after the title hadn’t been an easy decision, since it was committing _time_ due to the time-related requirements, but he’d ended up using some of his vacation hours during an off-holiday month and shot for it. He’d only asked for a couple days here and there, usually coinciding with a weekend for either a three or four-day break, and then made up for it by working over the holidays when everyone took time off.

In the end, he’d gotten it, and now every other title he had was collecting dust in his profile.

**Title: Slayer Known Around the World**

**[Master Tier]**

**A title gained by a player whose name strikes fear into monsters’ hearts everywhere. Even boss-level monsters will recognize their name. Their bloodstained journey will be recorded in the history books, preserved through time as a hero, a villain, and an executioner.**

**All combat related stats +100**

**All resistance related stats +200%**

**All affinity related stats +200%**

**All combat related skill levels increased by one**

**Attack doubled when fighting boss monsters**

**20% chance of all monster types to be paralyzed with fear in battle**

**Increased drop rate from boss monsters**

**Increased rewards from monster hunting quests**

His title was one of the main reasons Scarred was able to solo bosses. Most bosses required parties (and commonly _multiple_ parties) consisting of a variety of classes to deal balanced damage. They needed a front line to absorb damage, mages for magic attack damage, archers for ranged damage, warriors for physical damage (who could double as a front line, but not always), priests for support… Many different aspects went into a boss hunt.

And yet, Scarred went in alone. Boss monsters weren’t _easy_ to hunt for him, of course; they required meticulous preparation. When he was trying to earn the Slayer Known Around the World title, it took four tries to successfully complete the boss hunting requirement. He wasn’t able to hunt bosses on a regular basis; it wasn’t financially feasible, even for him, and the mental fortitude it took to go after them again and again wasn’t worth it.

It was also important to mention that his average success rate while boss hunting was 45 percent! Considering that he was fighting solo, that was a ridiculously high percentage by itself. Still, the reverse meant he had a high percentage of dying, and because he was alone, the hunt would automatically fail. He’d have to start all over again if he wanted revenge.

With this in mind, of course normal, common monsters didn’t prove much of a challenge to him! Not even the outstanding Diamondback Yetis kicked up much of a fuss in Scarred’s mind.

Speaking of combat assistance, his food was also a large factor. With his high poison resistance, he was no longer effected by most of the dangerous things he cooked, which made getting stat bonuses from them easy. It wasn’t as good as normal food made by Advanced Level Cooking, but Scarred thought it suited him.

After all, normal things weren’t very fun.

**Calamity Sushi**

**_Sushi made using extremely poisonous ingredients. Consuming it will kill an elephant in just under an hour._ **

**Requirement: At least 300% Poison Resistance to survive.**

The sushi gave off a foreboding green glow. That was probably the meat of the Noxious Glowfish he’d added in—a monstrous looking fish occasionally hooked from ice fishing. It was also quite high level, 200 on average, and considered unlucky because the only way to release it was to cut the line. Lower leveled players sometimes suffered a death from it due to their ignorance, choosing fishing spots they were underleveled for.

Its scales were coated in poison, and were used by some Northern assassins to enchant their weapons with. Harry had once considered enchanting his weapons with something similar, but he never stuck with one for long enough. It wasn’t economically feasible to search out someone with a high Enchant skill and pay services every time he picked up a new one.

 Well, it would be waste to make something and not try it. Scarred picked up a random piece and tossed it in his mouth. He didn’t have any chopsticks with him now, unfortunately.

There was a kick from the wasabi he’d rolled in with the rice, and the Noxious Glowfish was just the right chewy consistency that he wasn’t continuously gnawing on it. His dried seaweed he’d made earlier from his last batch of poisonous seaweed was a good compliment, the saltiness pairing well with the sweet unagi sauce he’d made from the bones of a Stormcloud Eel. The eel itself had a smooth texture on his tongue, barring the small _zip_ and _bang_ that traveled down his throat from eating it.

The Stormcloud Eel was one of the less poisonous things he’d added, though again it was not a recommended fish to eat because of its high Lightning Affinity. After playing W&W, Harry had discovered he’d quite liked the taste of eel. It was a luxury in real life though, so he often only ate it in the game.

There was also the sting of the Ice Avocado he’d added in. It had the creamy texture of regular avocadoes, but it also came with a chilling aura that refreshed his palate, almost like a glass of water. The Ironback Crawfish had also turned out to be a worthwhile addition; it added a heavier savoriness that would’ve been missing had he only had the lighter Noxious Glowfish.

Then there was the spice of what Harry liked to call his “Toxic Seasoning.” It was a mix of a variety of dried poisonous plants and normal herbs that increased the poison level of any dish by 50%! He had a less dangerous spice mix that was comprised of strange plants with odd—but harmless—effects from eating them, like confusion or different eye colors. That one he called “Mystery Seasoning,” though he admitted the name didn’t encourage an appetite…

The seasoning was spicy, but not overbearing. It sparked along his tongue like pop rock candies, and tied the variety of odd flavors together admirably.

In conclusion, Scarred was content with his newest creation.

**You have been fatally poisoned.**

**Your high poison resistance negates the poison’s effects.**

**By consuming a dish made with strange high quality ingredients, you have received the following temporary effects: Defense +2%, Attack +5%, Mana +5%, Lightning Affinity and Resistance +10% for the next hour.**

“Not bad,” he murmured. Because his food was different from ordinary dishes that increased stats, the effects he got from them weren’t always the same. For example, the next piece of sushi he ate could give him Health +5% instead of Mana, and instead of increasing his attack, it could _decrease_ it!

These things were a hit or miss, but to Harry, that sort of game of chance was enjoyable.

Sushi was best eaten fresh. It was a good thing that putting anything inside his inventory would preserve it until it was taken out again. He’d save the remainder for the next time he fought—which might be soon, with the PvP tournament coming up.

Scarred looked up at the sky, noting the sun’s position. He’d gone out early at dawn for some ice fishing, and with his task completed, now was the time to pack up. While in the area, he decided he wanted to hunt some Snow Lupins. Their fur was fairly popular among tailors in town—not as much as the Diamondback Yetis, but they were a nice alternative because they didn’t require a high Tailoring level.

The Diamondback Yeti furs could only be used by Intermediate Level 7 and higher tailors, the thickness requiring special needles that wouldn’t break under the strain. Snow Lupin furs, on the other hand, could be material for any tailor higher than Intermediate Level 1. Rather than the furs, Scarred was planning on drying the meat to make some jerky. They made an excellent snack during his hunts, because he could pull it out of his inventory and eat it while he fought.

Snow Lupins usually traveled in packs, just like the wolves back in Little Hippogriff. They were convenient and bountiful prey so far out from any town or village. Scarred flexed his hand, feeling the leather of his gauntlets rub against his skin, but not unkindly. Though he’d be fighting in the PvP tournament later, it wouldn’t hurt to take the edge off his urge to fight now.

The Ice Fiend’s Morningstar had been the last weapon he’d had with no successor; it would be him, the wolves, and his fists from henceforth.

Away from the fragile ice of the frozen lake, Scarred could feel the stares of the Snow Lupins lurking in the tree line. When it was night, they came to hunt outside the forest’s protection, but during the day they clung to the shadows they called home. Scarred, unperturbed, walked right in.

Literally a hungry pack of wolves, the Snow Lupins leaped upon him. Scarred twisted; he dodged them as if he had seen their wide gaping maws a mile away. They lunged again, but this time, the berserker was faced forward. He steadied his stance, pulled his arm back, and then when the closest Lupin was in range, Scarred yelled, “Twister!”

The effect was immediate, so he had to be quick. At the same time as mana began to spiral in his right arm, he punched forward and hit the wolf right on the muzzle. The momentum he created sharpened his attack down to the point of a needle while still maintaining all its power. It was the same attack the Alpha Male had used on him, 335 levels ago!

The Snow Lupin fell to a one hit kill. But there was an entire pack of them—Scarred didn’t pause as he moved forward again. Outnumbered, the worst possible thing to do was stand still. Rather, Scarred focused them down one by one, dodging when necessary and sometimes nailing several with his blows.

Mana-based attacks were the sole reason Scarred could switch weapons as often as he did. Other berserkers couldn’t possibly go through their weapons like him; he treated his weapons as pencil lead at best! Most of them stored a variety of high-class weapons: an elven bow for ranged attacks, a spear for longer melee, a sword (of course), a pair of knucklers for hand-to-hand, and more if they could afford it. They switched between them depending on the situation.

The more weapons a berserker had, the more versatile he was. However, this came with a drawback—certain skills could only be used with certain weapons, meaning most berserkers had lower skill levels. Any skill that could be used across different weapon types was priceless to a berserker, because it meant more opportunities to raise skill level without switching weapons—Scarred’s pure mana-based attacks were exactly this.

Because he could manipulate mana, he could adapt Tornado of Mana for a sword, arrows, or even his fists. He had a few others of these types in his arsenal, but Tornado of Mana was his bread-and-butter. Thankfully he had been able to make his own activation word, otherwise _that_ would be a mouthful to shout several times in battle.

Of course, like others of his class, Scarred _did_ keep _some_ weapons—like a bow, because a ranged weapon wasn’t too common of a drop, and it was useful for pulling a mob for testing purposes. However, he switched through his melee weapons like he ate his meals: snacks, and often.

Another benefit to Mana Manipulation was the ability to use spells without a staff. Scarred didn’t need a conduit, because he could control the mana himself! Staves and wands were used to transmit the mana inside the body to the outside world—they were key in allowing mages to create external phenomena. This was only because most mages and in fact most players couldn’t see mana, never mind manipulate it themselves.

Their weapon of choice pulled the mana from their body. The more times they used the skill, the more comfortable their bodies would be with this action, and thus the easier it would occur. This was how skill levels were raised for them.

Scarred did all this manually. His class enabled him to wield a staff, but he couldn’t cast magic with it; only mages could. Instead, it was _him_ pulling the mana from his body, _him_ telling it what shape to take on, _him_ telling it how to flow and how to move. The system only allowed him the capability to use this—unlike mages, he had no help during the experimentation process. Only after he learned how to perform the spell perfectly was there some automation to help him.

It was a tedious process to learn, but highly profitable. It meant he could cast spells while using a non-magic weapon!

However useful this was, it was still important that his abilities were kept a secret. He didn’t want anyone else stealing the secrets to his success—not to mention, if others knew, it was possible he could be countered or even hunted down! Those who knew him already knew he probably had Weapon Mastery. Scarred was very careful to only use Tornado of Mana when he was using blade-type melee weapons—people would only think he got lucky to find such a skill.

He didn’t know how many other people had the Mana Reader skill, if any, and he didn’t know how many other people were able to unlock the Mana Manipulation skill either. Scarred was intent to keep it that way.

After collecting loot from a few more packs of Snow Lupins, Scarred turned back toward the capital. He’d make the jerky later. It wouldn’t do to be late for the tournament.

* * *

Tournaments, even those as small as this one, tended to attract a crowd. Aside from the participants, there would always be the audience—those two things were mutually exclusive, after all—in this case, he could see a section of players from the Church. It was no wonder though; if this tournament really was sponsored by Gryffindor, naturally they’d advertise it among their members.

As far as Harry was concerned, they could do as they liked.

Another significant group were the couples. Surprising, perhaps, but after attending his fair share of tournaments, he realized that couples truly did gravitate here. If it wasn’t because their significant other was participating, then it was to watch a high-tension, blood pumping match while safely ensconced in the arms of their lover.

He wasn’t sure if that was the romantic aspect of it—really, there was a hundred other natural sceneries in the game one could argue built a better atmosphere—but they came to watch in droves. The capital was not lacking a player base, especially those who weren’t conventional players. Those who stayed in town solely to live another life rather than going out and competing for monsters _loved_ to watch PvP. It was another dimension to W &W that they did not touch, so them it was like watching their favorite television channel...live.

Scarred’s eyes lingered on the pairs of twos. When mana trickled between the two, he knew those pairs were married and connected through their wedding rings. The amount of mana crossing between married couples varied depending on the quality of ring they bought, but it was still easy to identify.

His gaze trailed after their easy companionship, attracted for some ineffable reason like a fly to a brightly burning lamplight. Was it warmth that he desired, or just the light—heat that he could not conjure himself, no matter how he directed his mana?

Some held hands. Some simply walked side-by-side, comfortable with a casual brush now and then. There were others who had their arm swung about the smaller of the two, and while some were embroiled in the midst of a captivating conversation (or was it more like a conversation with a captivating person?), others still were content with silence and preferred to observe their surroundings instead.

He could observe all these things in reality, too. Some couples visited the bookstore every now and then, and they weren’t rare specimens that couldn’t be found on the streets. Couples were everywhere—at the park, at the market, at the beach on the once-in-a-blue-moon occasion that he went…

Harry thought they were, what was the word, cute. He supposed that was the closest term. He’d had relationships in university, of course, both with men and women, but considering that his current relationship status was single, they’d obviously been lacking in some way. Or maybe it was him, and they were looking for more or something else he didn’t have.

These couples seemed content with each other. That on its own was enough to make him feel a little bit happier—a bite-sized portion that did nothing to quell his appetite, but still. Nice, yes, that was a good word, too. Secondhand happiness was nice.

Aside from the pairs, there were also the everyday players who wanted to watch, either by themselves or with their friends. Tournaments had an excitable atmosphere; it was like once they started, the entire stadium was a live wire just waiting for the next touch to go off. They chattered among themselves, in groups of three, four, or more, and just from their expressions, Harry felt himself getting eager as well.

Though, he supposed he didn’t need any help there. Already the urge to fight and move his body was beginning to wake. He’d successfully set it to sleep before, left in a doze and dormant, but now he could feel it beginning a steady rhythm pumping through his veins. His toes curled and his fingers twitched, his back felt wrong and his legs wanted to _move_. Restlessness was unbecoming. He felt it anyway.

Because this was virtual reality, there was no need to warm up. Still, some players were in the habit of it, and Scarred himself needed a breather before the tournament began, else he would start too enthusiastic and scare his opponents off. When he first started PvPing, Twist told him he had a bad habit of adopting a nasty, toothy grin in battle. Frankly, it looked like he wanted to rip their head off and eat it for breakfast.

That wasn’t exactly the first impression Scarred wanted to give.

He moved away from the stadium and instead toward the barracks, where a few other participants were also warming up. There were some wooden practice dummies set up outside. No one was using them—either preferring to warm up through a few drills or with a few spars—so Scarred chose a random one as his target.

 _Pak, pak, pak_. Each of his blows hit a vulnerable point of the body. Other players looked at him curiously as they passed, but he ignored them all.

The best part about these dummies was their unlimited durability! No matter how hard he hit, Scarred wouldn’t destroy them. To him, this was far better than a spar because it wouldn’t give away how strong he was! Revealing even one secret before a tournament was stupid. That secret could prove to be his downfall—so much could be ascertained through a battle, whether it was what side one favored or how skilled one’s footwork was.

Actually, Scarred wasn’t ‘warming up’ like everyone else. Rather than getting into the groove of battle, he was circulating the mana within his body. It was an exercise of the mind rather than his fists. Because the dummy’s small amount of mana was not active, it was easier to focus on his own—like running the television as background noise.

This was how he spent his time up until the tournament began. To recover some fatigue and fullness, Scarred took out a piece or two of his Calamity Sushi and ate it as the announcements were going on. It was a small tournament, so the battles would only need two days. Larger tournaments could go on for a good week; he’d only participated in a few of those before.

If he thought about it, it was kind of strange that the Church’s tournament would be this small…

Actually, now that the participants were announced, he’d recognized quite a few names. These players were all high quality!

Had there been an admission process? Scarred couldn’t recall one. He’d just signed up as he would to any run-o’-the-mill tourney, giving his name and paying the fee. The registrar had been an NPC, so maybe there had been a minimum fame or level requirement?

“For our next match, we have ‘Slayer Known Around the World’ Scarred versus ‘Gorgon’s Gaze’ Fury!”

Scarred stepped forward onto the raised platform. He was deaf to the noise of the crowd—they were the background, inconsequential to the fight he was about to have. His opponent, well he knew her, too. Fury was an assassin-type player, known for her mixed damage style. It was said that if a player locked eyes with her or came within her melee range, they’d be dead within the next second!

It was odd for a player to be equally capable of ranged and melee damage. Fury’s close-range skill with a dagger was equal to her throwing-knives. She incorporated both into her fighting style, making her a troublesome opponent even outside of assassination-type settings. She was another regular participant of PvP tournaments; Scarred had fought her once or twice.

“Lord,” Fury cursed upon seeing him. “It’s _you_ again. Just my luck… Well, there goes my prize money.”

“Sorry,” Scarred said with a shrug.

The assassin scoffed. “No you’re not.”

“I’m not,” he agreed.

Fury’s irritation was called for. Scarred’s style was a strange counter to her’s—it left an entire half of her abilities practically useless.

The ring of the bell signified the start of the match. Fury would strike first—assassins were predictable like that—so Scarred didn’t waste time and began to apply defensive buffs instead of charging forward. She’d come to him, and that suited him just fine.

“Starburst Strike!”

There she was. Scarred smiled. Fury’s preferred opening was the poisonous ‘Venom Cutthroat,’ but her past experiences with him had already alerted her of his high poison resistance. Starburst Strike was a similar single-target, high-damage move, but rather than poisoning, it paralyzed.

Her mana trail already told him of her location. Scarred swerved, letting her dagger slice through thin air instead of a body. He struck with his leg, but Fury’s high evasion let her slip away before contact could be made. An assassin’s first move was their most important—now that it had completely failed, she was in a bit of a pickle.

Normally, ‘Gorgon’s Gaze’ Fury actually exceled at this stage. She was a regular PvPer because her ranged skillset allowed her opportunities to create another ‘first move’ scenario—unfortunately for her, using her ranged attacks against a berserker like Scarred would completely backfire!

“It’s not fair,” she moaned, retreating to a safer range.

“Just do what you’d normally do,” Scarred said. “Pretend I’m just any old ‘serker off the street!”

“I’m not an idiot!” Fury hollered back. “Maybe if you had a _weapon_ , I’d be more willing to throw something at you!”

“Oh? You offering?”

“Hell no!”

Their conversation made Scarred laugh. It was always nice for the first fight to be against someone you knew—soothed the nerves, and whatnot. “It’s okay. I’ll just take yours!” he said, before rushing forward. He didn’t even bother to buff his attack—assassins were squishy, and if he circulated his mana just right, it was basically a buff anyway.

“Oh, screw you—”

Scarred’s speed cut her off. Fury threw her weight to the side, but he blocked off her retreat with a split step. Assassins had low health, true, but that meant nothing if he couldn’t catch one! Unfortunately for him, they were as slippery as they were squishy.

Blocking Fury’s slash, he knew he had to get a little creative.

“Mimic!”

The assassin’s body leaped backwards. In her place was a clone that looked exactly like her.

Right, now he remembered. Fury had a skill like that, too. He’d have to get a _lot_ creative, Scarred amended, proceeding to dodge a continuous stream of slashes and stabs. It wasn’t too hard to figure out what hand she would attack with—the mana inside her body would always concentrate on the next one, mirroring her focus. Even if she didn’t use a skill requiring mana, he could still see in what direction her life force flowed.

“Starburst Strike!”

Scarred’s eyes narrowed. _From behind_. He struck forward then, switching from defense to offense against the clone. Surprised, the clone moved backwards, allowing him to dodge the other attack aimed at his neck. The opening he had noticed in the midst of dodging reappeared again, so he aimed a strike there. When the clone shifted to cover the hole, he cut his attack short and sent a manually formed Twister to her head; the damage was enough to dispel the clone and he hadn’t casted a word.

It all happened in the span of a second. The real Fury was still behind him, so in one smooth motion he poured his mana into a spinning back kick that cut her next attack short. She hissed as one of her daggers were flung from her hand.

“And so it begins,” she grumbled to herself. Just because she spoke didn’t mean she paused—there was still one dagger left. “Primal Assault!”

Scarred didn’t dodge this one. He let the attack hit him, tanking its entirety without issue, and grabbed the weapon before she could even pull back. The poison coating that immediately took effect didn’t bother him; instead, he pulled the dagger to the side and then aimed a blow at her hand, practically twisting the weapon out of her grasp.

“I’ll be taking that.”

A player who hadn’t faced him before would’ve frozen in shock. Fury, who _had_ seen him before, cursed and flew back, trying to retrieve her second weapon.

“Not so fast! Twister!”

The blow caught her leg. Scarred grinned. He didn’t mind the damage he’d taken at all! A relentless chase began in which all her attempts to retrieve her second dagger were foiled.

“Didn’t you say you were going to throw something at me now?” he taunted, equally unbothered by the amount of blows she was able to avoid. The game of cat and mouse would always end in favor of the cat, if the mouse didn’t have anywhere to hide.

“ _Ha_ , right. You’ve still got another empty hand!”

Even as she said that, Fury threw a knife toward his hand that was wielding the weapon. Out of reflex, Scarred batted it out of the way, leaving him open for the second one she threw. This one, he caught. He knew something was off immediately.

“So I made a couple of plans,” the assassin said, juggling a smirk and a shrug, “Shoot me.”

“Don’t ask for something you can’t handle,” he retorted. The tension of the wire that had coiled around his arm bit into his gauntlets; his entire arm was growing numb. “Let me guess, your dagger can’t cut this, can it?”

“You could try sawing it,” Fury suggested. “Oh, but by that point, I’d have already killed you. Too bad, so sad.”

While it would be incredibly simple to end the match by sending a mana attack down the wire—a powered up thunderbolt would finish this faster than his opponent could say “I surrender”—that would reveal far too much information about his skillset. He wasn’t ready for that if there was another way to victory.

So he said, “Here’s a tip: if you think it’s a good plan, there’s always something that’ll go wrong.”

Scarred lunged forward. Just as he expected her to, Fury darted to the side in order to maintain the tension of the wire. He spun his body and continued to throw his weight anyway, trusting in his strength being stronger than hers. Besides, assassins moved for _speed_ —the way they ran, they dodged using their speed, leaving them defenseless if their enemy had already caught them.

Big mistake. Fury yelped, unable to steady herself as she lost her balance. Scarred dropped the throwing knife and fully dedicated one hand to yanking on the wire. In his other hand was the dagger he’d liberated, poison tip pointed to deliver a Twister to the ribs.

Instead, he pinned her to the ground and tossed her a cheeky, “See what I mean?” before slicing her neck like an assassin would’ve done. She disappeared in a flash of light.

As he dusted himself off, the announcer shouted, “Winner: Scarred!” for the crowd to hear.

Of course, they already knew.

* * *

Back waiting with the other participants, Scarred milled about with the rest, included but distant. He leaned against one of the wooden poles and watched the movement of the crowd. With his hood up, no one approached him—or he spoke too soon, because a female player was making her way over right now.

His previous opponent was wearing a different set of clothes, having no need to wear her armor now that she’d lost. Indeed, even the hair that had been pulled up into a high, tight ponytail was now in two loose pigtails. Her dark body-conforming armor had been exchanged for a set of casual clothes—a tunic and cotton pants—as if she was only a civilian, now. Even her walk was different; she didn’t walk like an assassin, she walked like a shopper strolling through a strip mall.

Leave it to Fury to change even _that_. Honestly, how far would this woman go—she was even consciously monitoring her pace and pose, which would’ve been automatically adjusted by the system according to her high stealth and agility stats. The way she moved now completely hid not only her skill levels, but her stat points!

What a terrifying player. She could make a business out of solo-PKing, if she wanted to.

“Good game,” Fury said, extending a hand.

He took it, and they shook like old comrades. “Good game,” he replied, as etiquette required. “I have to say, I like the wire.”

“Thanks.” She smirked. “It’s still a work-in-progress. Look out for it—a weapon you _can’t_ steal, Weapon Thief!”

“We’ll see about that. Have you tried coating it in poison?”

Fury gave him a flat look. “It _was_ poisoned.”

“Oh, guess I didn’t notice.”

Fury clicked her tongue. Before she could say anything else, a shout redirected both of their attentions. Someone else was making her way toward them, only this time, unlike Fury who no one bothered to look at, _this_ person was receiving quite a bit of stares.

“Fee-fi-fo-fum!” she bellowed, quickening her pace to a sprint. When she was close enough, the female player flung herself at Fury and ensnared her in a generous embrace. “I smell the blood of an Englishman.”

“Charis,” the assassin greeted, and returned the affection with a more subtle enthusiasm.

Charis pulled back. “No, really, who’d you kill, Fifi?”

Fury looked annoyed. “ _No one_ , as I’m sure you know sitting up in the audience. This brute—” she pointed toward Scarred, “—is on his way, though. Maybe you smelled him?”

Instead of the childlike glee that had greeted Fury, Charis gave Scarred a benevolent smile fit for a saint. “Good to see you, Weapon Thief. Nice match! My Fury’s just been _dying_ to impress you with her new trick—”

“Oh my God, shut up!”

“—Too bad it failed. Well, that’s why she admires you anyway; you never fail to get out of a sticky situation.”

Scarred tilted his head. “Thanks, I think.”

He knew very little about Charis, only that she and Fury were in some sort of relationship. Charis was a muse from Hufflepuff; who knew how she met ‘Gorgon’s Gaze’ Fury, but ever since, she’d sat in the first row audience for all of Fury’s matches.

“Do you know who you’re up against next?”

To be honest, no, he didn’t. He’d tuned the announcer out once he left the stage, and was only listening for his named to be called now. “Not really.”

Fury snorted. “Thought so. It doesn’t matter anyway, does it? You’ll just go in and steal their weapon again—”

“Steal is a very strong word. It’s not like I get to _keep_ them,” Scarred said, defending himself. It was true. In a PK, the situation was different, but for PvPs, anything that happened during the match was reversed—aside from items that were consumed and equipment that broke, of course.

“And yet you’re known as the Weapon Thief.”

“Titles aren’t made to be accurate,” he shrugged, “They’re made to sound nice.”

“‘Thief’ is grossly inaccurate,” Charis agreed. “You’re technically a warrior. Hey, do you think it’d be hard changing your name to ‘Weapon Snatcher’ instead? Before the match, Fury was—”

Fury cut her off. “And that’s our cue to leave. Good luck in your next match, Weapon Thief!”

Her girlfriend struggled against being dragged off. “Aw, Fifi! You never let me have any fun!”

“Your definition of ‘fun’ is always at my expense!”

Charis huffed. She waved goodbye to him, and as if upon sudden recollection, yelled back, “Thank you, Scarred! I’d hate to be apart from Fury for so long!”

Scarred blinked. He must’ve misheard; still, he waved back to be polite. What a strange pair—that sort of companionship was amusing too, he supposed. A muse and an assassin, getting along like a house on fire… Well, classes only said so much about a person. Not everyone fit their respective stereotypes.

The announcer called his name. Scarred headed for the arena.

* * *

There were around twenty participants in the beginning, an incredibly small number considering who was hosting the tournament, but no one in the crowd complained. Each of those twenty players were well known in the PvP circles—from ‘Gorgon’s Gaze’ Fury and ‘Spirit of Fire’ Pyromaniac to even ‘Ageless and Immortal Aegis’ Beansprout, and then of course ‘Slayer Known Around the World’ Scarred; the Weapon Thief himself was in attendance.

After the first round, the numbers were cut down to ten. The second round ended with five players left, and because it was evening by then, the tournament ended, to be resumed the next day.

The third round between the five players was a round robin, where each of the five players fought the other four participants, and the one with the least amount of wins lost. Scarred took two wins for himself, losing to two others, while the only person with one win, Beansprout, graciously left. The crowd, who had all come to see these big names fight in a single tournament, were quite disappointed and shouted farewells to him as he left.

Well, it wasn’t surprising. Beansprout was a dwarven paladin, who despite his diminutive size had an iron-clad defense. The dichotomy between what he _should’ve_ looked like and what he actually was made a funny picture that won him a large fan base.

Defense made an effective offense in other PvP tournaments, however everyone in the top five was an experienced fighter—they wouldn’t get tripped up from a turtle with a sword. In a longer battle, they made fewer mistakes and instead bided their time for an opening. Paladins weren’t meant for bursting out high damage, and that was what it came down to: damage values.

The fourth round was semi-final round. It was comprised of two matches, as there were four players left. Scarred was pit against Pyromaniac, the only mage among them now. The other two players were a rogue and another warrior.

It wasn’t that he hated fighting against mages, they just had their fair share of trouble attached. Sometimes it was difficult to resist using a skill he normally would’ve in combat, just to keep his skills a secret. There was a roundabout method, of course—using skills through Mana Manipulation didn’t require activation words—but that sometimes needed more focus than he could give in a duel.

Actually, unlike his fellow warriors, he found mages to be a rather easy opponent. Every move they made involved their mana, so they never surprised him. Furthermore, he could manipulate his mana to a targeted location on his body, increasing his mana resistance and decreasing their damage done without anyone being the wiser. He had the advantage, and they didn’t even know it.

Well, of course it was easier said than done. There was a difference between theory and practicality, after all—if he blocked all their shots that way, he wouldn’t be the one attacking never mind moving. No, that was why he preferred dodging; the only time he took a direct blow in a duel was when he was forced to or needed to.

Pyromaniac was, surprise-surprise, a mage who specialized in fire spells. Whether he was an elemental wizard or not, he never confirmed; Scarred didn’t need to know his class to know his abilities anyway. The point was, fire magic could be a nasty piece of work. Burns were as bad as poison, only they could be worse depending on the afflicted area.

A burn on the legs would decrease mobility. Getting burned on the hand made it easier to be disarmed. Fatigue increased so drag a battle on too long and it was like setting a death timer for yourself.

Scarred couldn’t heal burns through mere circulation. He could decrease their effects, but he couldn’t heal them without using Cure. Most healing magic was difficult to manipulate on the fly, so he preferred not to—something about the way mana moved to bless or cure or heal required a finer touch than blasting through walls, go figure.

On top of that, if there was anything to burn, fire magic could be sustained. It could burst or it could spread, and that versatility in offense could be deadly. While it wasn’t a protective magic, one could argue that killing your opponent faster than they could attack was the best defense spells could give: complete disability.

It was thus no surprise that fire mages were most of the best PvPers in the mage class. They provided zero support, but the pure damage they provided was valuable all on its own.

That said…

Pyromaniac sighed. “Of course the coin flip would match me against you. Man, would’ve been cool if I made it to the final round—bragging rights and all that. Welp, karma’s a bitch, game is rigged. Hashtag RNGesus pls.”

Scarred shrugged. “You win some, you lose some.”

“You know, for a Weapon Thief, that’s actually the least of your abilities I’m scared of.”

“Thanks, I think.”

The mage shrugged back—no hard feelings—and shook his hand. “Well, it would’ve been interesting to go on a quest, but whatever. More time to boss hunt with my guild, I guess.”

Scarred blinked. “Quest?”

“Oh? You didn’t know?”

Their conversation was cut short by the ringing of the bell. Unlike with Fury, this was a semi-final round—distractions couldn’t be afforded.

* * *

It wasn’t a flawless victory, but it was a decisive one. While Scarred didn’t have the innate resistances that caused Fury trouble, Pyromaniac was a mage. If he was defeated by one, he’d be more than a little embarrassed—mana was, well, _his_ , ignoring the fact that he was a berserker anyway.

Besides, Pyromaniac had never won a match against him the several times they clashed. He didn’t have a defeatist mentality—proven by how Scarred had ended the match with ten percent of his health left; the mage didn’t pull his punches and gave as good as he got—but it had become a running joke between them.

“Hey, Pyro!” he called out, jogging a little to catch up with the mage. “Hey. Good game. About what you were saying—before the match began—”

“‘Sup, Weapon Thief. Good game. Oh yeah, about that…” Pyromaniac looked around. Then, without a hint on his face, he switched to whispers. “Well, now that I think about it, it’s not surprising that you didn’t know. It wasn’t public information, really.”

Scarred thought about Fury, and then he inevitably thought about Charis. Did Charis know? Fury, as an assassin, would no doubt have information networks, and Charis as a muse was linked into that social network as well. Was that enough though?

“My guild was the one who told me,” Pyromaniac continued to explain. As a famous PvPer, Pyromaniac was also the member of a high-profile guild, Art of War. They were one of the top guilds in Gryffindor.

Scarred had no guild of his own, nor no real information network, just the word of mouth that he encountered on his adventures.

“You’re a good guy—little shady, but that’s just ‘cause no one really knows anything about you. Nothing wrong with that. Anyway, you’re a good guy, so I don’t mind telling you what I know, if you want.”

“I’ll owe you one,” Scarred offered in return. He was thinking back to what Twist said.

Pyromaniac grinned, and then slapped him on the back like an old friend. “Having Weapon Thief owe me one? Man, my karma’s givin’ me whiplash! But yeah, sure, thanks, no problem—as long as, you know, you didn’t hear anything from me.”

That last part was said seriously. Scarred replied with the same understanding. “Of course.”

“Cool, cool. Alright, so you _must’ve_ noticed the absurdly strong people in this small little get-together, right? ‘S pretty obvious—I mean, you get Fury, You, Me, Jackal, Gate…all in one tiny tourney? Kinda suspicious, but the stands were loaded so it was more fun than weird. _Anyway_ , turns out, there were three ways to get in.”

“Three?” Scarred asked, while the two of them began to move somewhere less crowded. He still had to hang around for the final round, but it was stranger still to stand in a high traffic area talking in whispers.

“Yeah, you heard my words. _Three._ For this tiny tourney—this ridiculously _high level_ tourney, but I’m getting there. Right, first way to get in was invitational—that was how most of us got in, actually…well, the more popular ones. Let’s see, Petals was invitation. I got an invitation. Gate got one, too—not sure about Fury. Second way was through the Church’s connection. Beansprout, for example. There was also Heller, and Capricorn—you know, that berserker who goes on a lot of Church missions?”

“Yeah, I know him,” Scarred said. That must’ve been how Twist had found out—Capricorn was a customer of Swan’s Smithery.

“Third way was through registration. A bunch of people signed up, but it was filtered—obviously, you see the twenty people participating versus the _hundred or so_ that signed up? Yeah. They caught the hard to contact players through that—like you. That was how you got in, right?”

“Someone mentioned there’d be a tournament, and I was in the area, so I went to sign up,” he explained. “I was surprised when I got here and saw all of you.”

“Yeah, that’d be a surprise. Anyway, the Church is looking for someone for a quest of sorts—no one knows the details of what the quest is about, top secret…I doubt even Beansprout knows. I’ve got no idea why they’re looking through a _PvP_ tournament, but there you go. My money’s on it being pretty big. Secrets? Getting the top PvPers here? Yeah, that quest ain’t gonna be for a monster hunt. You feelin’ me?”

“I get it. Thanks, Pyro.”

Pyromaniac shrugged. “NP, dude. ‘S all good. Hey, it should be your turn soon—do me a favor and kick Gate’s ass for me, would you? He was being all high-and-mighty for getting his invitation before I got mine, the jerk.”

Gate was also a member of Art of War. “You don’t want your guild to get the quest?” Scarred asked carefully.

“To the victors go the spoils, man,” Pyromaniac replied. “I mean, it’d be great if we did, no doubt about that, but I’m not about that shady life, you feel? If my guild is all up in that, fine, guild wars, cool—but that ain’t me here. You’re not part of an enemy guild, you’re a cool guy, you won fair-and-square—fair is fair, that’s how a tournament should be. If Gate wins, we’ll go for a drink. If you win, I want Gate’s ass kicked while you do it.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“I’ll cheer for Gate in the public chat, but if you hand his ass to him, I won’t be disappointed.”

Scarred grinned. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

* * *

**Name: Scarred ~ Level: 350 ~ Race: Human**

**Faction: Gryffindor ~ Class: Berserker**

**Title: Slayer Known Around the World ~ Fame: 9056**

**Health: 75842 (+…) ~ Mana: 45067 (+…)**

**Strength: 1348 (+…) ~ Stamina: 723 (+…)**

**Intellect: 553 ~ Wisdom: 611**

**Luck: 492 ~ Agility: 770 (+…)**

**Stealth: 121 ~ …**

**Attack: 1017 (+…) ~ Defense: 679 (+…)**

**Rage: 0**

**Fullness: 100 ~ Fatigue: 0**

**Poison Resistance +500%**

**Fire Resistance +150%**

**Ice Resistance +200%**

**Elemental Resistance +150%**

**Current Skills: Hippogriff Riding (Inter. lv 7), Mana Reader (Adv. lv 1), Prowl (Inter. lv 1), Luck of the Draw (Inter. lv 1), Patronus Charm (Inter. lv 5), Demonic Metamorphosis (???), Tornado of Mana (Inter. lv 9), Weapon Mastery (Adv. lv 1), Cooking (Inter. lv 5), Herbalism (Inter. lv 6), Mana Manipulation (Inter. lv 9), …**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry wtf are you doing in the first part, Equilibrium is not a cooking manga
> 
> okay anyway i have REALLY IMPORTANT NEWS. Merdesmiroirs made the first fanart for this fic and it's currently lineart, but if it never gets colored i'd be okay with that too because OH MY GOD IT'S SO GOOD GO LOOK AT IT [HERE](http://merdesmiroirs.tumblr.com/post/148204821812).
> 
> You can all thank them for this chapter because otherwise, who knows when it'd come out.
> 
>  _Anyway_ , here's some cool trivia for you! Before everyone starts guessing, Fury and Charis are OCs (-points at tags- I warned you!!!!), and though this is the first time you're seeing them, they were first written in the unfinished, incomplete next chapter for In Lukewarm Water! Oops. Talk to me if you wanna know more about that.
> 
> Also I'm starting to have feelings for Pyromaniac so you might see him again much much much much later.
> 
> Who knows if I'm actually going to write a fight scene next chapter.


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